Autumn's Children
by November First
Summary: The dead don't forgive what the living can't forget. Haunted by vengeful souls and secrets, Kurapika will do anything to lay them to rest. Even live. (AU-ish York Shin.)
1. Prologue

_For an Eye_

Part I: Autumn's Children

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I do not own _Hunter X Hunter_, or any of the characters therein.

Because this is an AU, the occasional exchange of dialogue and some partial scenes from the manga have snuck into this story. If necessary, I can add a note at the beginning of the chapter pointing to the source location … but I don't think it should be required. Mostly because this story contains a multitude of spoilers for everything from the beginning of York Shin to the end of the Chimera arc; if you haven't read/watched that far in either the manga or anime I strongly recommend that you do so. The original story is and always will be superior to an amateur story written solely for fan enjoyment.

That said, this is a story based on the manga (although both anime as well as the OVA are very close) and the world, including character descriptions, conforms to what I understood them to be in that format. Character and place names are … er, well, I just picked the spellings I felt most comfortable with.

_Final and possibly most controversial note_: Kurapika is a girl in this story. For a long time, I wavered on the fence of this debate … and although I have now come to the conclusion that the author intended Kurapika to be male, there is no way around making that character female for this story. It simply has to be, for the sake of the theme and the plot and several other things that if I told you would be spoilers. So, there you have it.

Now that all of that is out of the way: please enjoy the story! This is part one of three. Updates Tuesday and Friday.

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong> First Law of Motion

That which knew itself to be the Queen ignored the humans looking down on her.

Her children harvested food from the metal chutes that led upward. Ever hungry, she devoured the meat and took strength and vitality from it – realizing her potential with every new bite. And ever watchful, she played a waiting game with her watchers.

The humans in the glass platforms above could not study her any more intently than she studied them; but she had been created to be perfect, so she would be the one to learn most in the end. Humans had made her to adapt and evolve and strive after power – and she hungered for theirs. Nature dictated that she surpass all previous generations.

She ran antennae across the humanoid features of her face and triple-jointed hands and felt pleased with the hard planes of her exoskeleton. _Flawless._ She was flawless. Would be flawless forever.

Death had visited her, more than once before, but each time she rose up again: stronger and uncrushed. These most recent humans had found her during one of the weak times … And if they had been wise, they would have destroyed her then. Instead, they nourished her with the strongest food they could find – other chimera ants and their own flesh and blood – but she knew that more power was possible.

At the bottom of the metal nest they had constructed for her, the Queen remembered how to make plans. Her wisdom had already out-paced the humans, even as they fed her on their own kind. She grew stronger, and passed that strength on to the children that served as her hands and feet and eyes and ears. They would be ready. Very soon now.

But success required patience. With every moment she was developing the skills necessary to overcome the humans. Someday, she knew, she would give birth to a child capable, worthy of standing on top of the world. That glorious place – the pinnacle of life and strength – called out to her. It was within her grasp.

The Queen perfected life, and closed faceted red eyes to dream hungry dreams.

* * *

><p>Kurapika walked the halls of the Hunter Association's headquarters, and strongly suspected that she was wasting her time. Light from the windows glowed across the stone and wood at her feet. For a moment, she let longing overcome her – the desire to walk through a wild forest instead of exotic hothouse plants, and to hear birdsong and the wind in the leaves instead of quiet jazz piped across invisible speakers. To taste snow and pure ice on the wind, instead of subtle perfumes.<p>

_Is there anything for me here?_ She should be spending this week tracking down one of the rare items needed to buy her way into service of the Nostrad family. By the end of the month, she needed to be installed in the ranks of their bodyguards and on her way to York Shin. _This could be nothing more than a distraction. _Then again, she reflected, it was never wise to ignore the invitation of the chairman of the Hunter's selection committee. Especially not when he sent a private airship to pick you up.

Netero's office was located on the top floor, which she had expected given what she knew of the man's love for heights. His secretary, a shapeless and smiling man she had met during the exam, pointed out the correct door to her. She knocked on the ornately carved wood.

"Yes?" Netero's voice called, muffled.

Kurapika opened the door.

Netero was contorted into an improbable yoga pose on top of a large desk. She tilted her head to one side, single earring sparking, to better see his expression. His grin remained as cheerful as she remembered.

"Kurapika, right on time," he waved an upside down hand at her. "Come in! Come in!"

Entering, she took a quick glance around the room. As the office of a professional hunter, it was everything it should have been – strange sculptures and instruments scattered in a deceptively eccentric fashion, floor-length windows that filled the room with light, and maps of the world and ancient ruins and modern cities hanging between them. Her gaze returned to the man who worked in this room, thoughtful.

"What is this about, sir?" she asked; no point in delaying things, and left on his own the Chairman had the tendency to ramble.

"Can an old man not congratulate one of his newest Hunters on her stellar achievements in the unofficial, last test of the Hunter exam? Though you had something of a head start, hm?"

_So he noticed that. _Kurapika's expression twitched into a brief frown. _I sincerely doubt that he's called the other candidates in for individual interviews like this; I'd have heard something. _So he wanted something from her in particular, perhaps a job offer, but was unwilling to come right out and say it. She would have to wait for him to come to the point of his own accord.

_Wasting time._

Kurapika shoved the thought out of sight, and kept her expression polite.

"Close the door, please," he added when she didn't answer.

She shut it softly behind her back. Immediately, he untwisted from the top of the desk and landed on the chair behind it in another unlikely pose. It made her spine hurt just to look at him.

"So, congratulations!" Netero said. "And now that that is out of the way, I have a few questions for you."

She came forward to stand before his desk; it would enable him to read more from her expressions and posture – but it gave her the same advantage as well. Nothing personal, but she didn't feel comfortable with him. He played the role of eccentric geezer well … but his eyes were clear, unclouded by age or foolishness.

"First: what do you intend to do now that you have mastered nen?"

"Mastery is a relative term, sir," she replied, playing for a moment to think. "As you know, I registered as a blacklist hunter."

He studied her, in a way that said he was not fooled by the noncommittal answer. Kurapika kept her own gaze steady. Whatever he wanted from her, she would not give it up for nothing. She trusted no one with all her secrets.

"Blacklist hunters generally spend more time arresting mafia dons, not seeking employment with them."

_Oh ― so that's what he's worried about. Hunters are given complete freedom … to choose sides for themselves and to oppose each other. _It would be unwise to make an enemy of Netero; she should cooperate for the moment.

"I have a specific target," Kurapika declared. "Access to information about the Genei Ryodan is hard to come by, so the best way is to search among the underworld for their previous contacts."

_Hide the truth beneath the truth._

"You're seeking revenge for your lost clan, then?" he asked, in a voice that did not require an answer.

She could not conceal the slight, nervous twitch of her fingers. _Some one in the Hunter Association was bound to know about that._ She had, after all, announced her intentions in the beginning of the Hunter exam. At the time, it had seemed like a fitting move: a bold declaration of war against all those who desecrated the Eyes of her kinsmen … A fitting way to attract attention from her targets, to lure them into the open as they came to hunt her.

Now, she could only be thankful that only the examiner, Gon, and Leorio had been there to hear.

The Chairman smiled, in a way that meant he could read the trend of her dismayed thoughts.

"Of course, we know all about your history with the Genei Ryodan," he said mildly. "The Association thoroughly investigates the backgrounds of those who pass this final test. We are well aware of your origins."

"And is this information available on the public site for Hunters?" she asked, with a bit of a snap.

"We wouldn't be much of an organization if we got in the habit of painting large targets on our members' backs," he replied with unruffled calm. "And information on your tribe itself is hard to acquire anyway."

_Not good enough,_ she hissed mentally. _"Not in the habit" and "never" are not the same thing._ The organization prided itself on its 'survival of the fittest' philosophy … Netero himself would not bat an eyelash if she were to get herself killed, not even if he unintentionally had a hand in her death.

But there was no point in wasting her anger here; if necessary, she would take further steps to protect her identity. As advantageous as owning it was, the Hunter license could too easily be used to trace her movements; she would have to use it sparingly, and to the maximum efficiency.

"The Ryodan is a high target for a newly fledged hunter, working on her own," mused Netero, looking her over in open evaluation.

_You have no idea,_ Kurapika thought ironically, _how high I intend to reach._

"I believe my skills to be sufficient," she said aloud.

"Then you intend to fight solo?"

"As you said, the Ryodan is a difficult mark," she gave him a few of her reasons for free, "I believe a single hunter will have more success in approaching them unnoticed than a large group."

He untwisted from his strange pose and stood upright behind the desk between them. "To fulfill your duty to avenge the clan?"

"As the sole survivor, my duty has always been to ensure that the fallen rest in peace." She had learned how to lie without lying, though it still felt wrong to let others deceive themselves. _I must smother even my own conscience under a weight of lesser sins – in order to fulfill a more righteous cause._ With absolute focus on her goal, she believed that she might be able to hold on to her soul anyway; she would be justified in the end.

"A noble sentiment," Netero nodded to her in respect, folding his hands into his full sleeves in a monk's benediction. "Please accept my best hopes for your success."

"Thank you."

"And thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule for an interview you no doubt consider to be a pointless gesture." He chuckled. "The secretary at the front desk will arrange for your transportation to any destination you request."

Chairman Netero turned away, indicating that her audience was over. With a mental shrug, Kurapika headed for the door. His voice called her back only when her hand was already turning the handle.

"Kurapika." Over her shoulder, she could see that he was smiling. "Before you leave, you might want to stop by the anthropology exhibit on the third floor. I'm sure some on with your keen interest in the field will find the collection fascinating."

_I do have a specific interest … but I'm in a hurry. I don't have time to spare,_ she thought in suspicious bewilderment. His smile remained intact under her scrutiny, too much like that of a kindly grandfather to be anything other than a deception. _This is what he really wants from me. As casual as he looks and sounds, this is the real reason he called me here._

"It's a shame, though," the old man went on in a wistful voice, "that one of the centerpieces of the exhibit will be leaving us this weekend. The Association is donating it to the Yulu Museum. If you want to see it with your own eyes, you should do so before ten o'clock on Saturday."

She nodded again, and left the office.

The third floor exhibit did not take long to find. A whole room had been dedicated to lost and ancient civilizations, bits and pieces of their history preserved beyond time in glass casements. She passed by the relics of the dead: a lonely trespasser on their sacred rest. In the center of the collection, she discovered what it was that Netero wanted her to find.

Stepping as softly, carefully as if she had been walking on shards of glass, Kurapika approached the illuminated display.

"_The Seventh Wonder of the World,"_ the placard on the stand read, _"Scarlet Eyes of the Kurata Clan, now extinct tribe of Lukuso Mountain."_

Her own eyes began to burn.

* * *

><p>The lobby of the abandoned hotel echoed with sounds – the creak of old wood and the soft murmur of water from broken pipes and the rustling of the wind. Kuroro looked around in satisfaction. <em>This is the place.<em> The crumbling elegance of broken pillars and cracked cement floors – long stripped of their carpets – appealed to him. It had all the tragic majesty of a ruined cathedral.

_Classic._

He hopped up what was left of the grand staircase to examine the upper levels.

Room after room revealed itself to him, in various states of decay. Kuroro paced through them, the soft swish of his coat and the muffled thud of his boots disturbing their silence. Scents of dust and water-rot filled his mouth when he inhaled. _There will be plenty of room for us here,_ he decided with approval. The power had been cut long ago … _but Shalnark can wire it for electricity to make our stay more comfortable._ He found no evidence of anyone else having adopted the derelict building for their own uses, which meant it was free for the taking.

Satisfied, he headed for the roof, kicking out the metal door when it proved too rusted to open on its own. In the distance, the neon lights of York Shin gleamed like a treasure-box. The hotel on which he stood, his hotel now, was a derelict remnant of old development; the center of the metropolis had long ago moved away from the wasteland and closer to the harbor. But the moon shed its cool, impartial light down on both the city's thriving heart and its discarded husk.

Kuroro raised his face to the stars and smiled. After a moment of savoring the night's quiet promises, he got back to business. The phone only rang once when he made the first call.

"Machi? It's me. Spread the word: York Shin, September first. All of us."

* * *

><p>Crouching beside the road, Kurapika adjusted the black scarf covering her wig. Tall grasses hissed around her as she settled back onto earth baked hard by the summer's heat. On the horizon, she could see the reddish glow of the city; here, though, all remained quiet. Insects buzzed around her head, attracted to her sweat and emboldened by her stillness. The rich taste of descending autumn filled the air.<p>

"_Saturday, ten o'clock,"_ Chairman Netero's voice echoed in her memory.

He must have known what she would do with the information. In fact, he had given it to her freely – but for what purpose, she could not yet uncover.

_Maybe he also feels how _sick_ it is to carve people up and put them on display; maybe he also objects to showcasing the death and suffering of others as a morbid amusement. _An unfounded conclusion. She could not assume that, just because of his past history as a hunter who protected the treasures of the world from greedy, unworthy hands, he would be altruistically interested in her cause. The Association had obviously entertained no compunctions about including the eyes of her clan in their exhibit.

For the last two days, she had laid a false trail that would point to the Eyes being stolen by one of the more infamous body-collectors in the mafia. Hopefully, the authorities would assume that she was a middleman acting for someone else. She counted on Netero to keep the Hunter Association from getting directly involved. There would be no point in setting her up for failure now … besides, she believed he would have the decency to take her out face-to-face if he truly desired her downfall.

And Kurapika would ensure that by the time any pursuit caught up with her, from any quarter, they would be unable to find the seventh wonder that she had stolen anyway.

In her pocket, the cellphone chirped like a cicada.

_Ten o'clock: minutes between me and the Eyes._

Nen-chains rattled at her from where they wrapped around her right wrist. With a practiced flick, she unhooked the dowsing chain and let it fall free; it would give her a sure warning the moment the courier van transporting the Eyes came within range. She could attack instantly, without needing any visual verification of her target.

Four years of training and planning and waiting and _wanting_ – they would begin to end tonight. Wild anticipation and premature triumph bubbled up in her chest. But she forced them back down under the iron bonds of painfully won self-control.

Snapping to the left, the dowsing chain rattled.

_Here it comes._

Headlights rushed towards her.

The chain lashed across the road, puncturing the front tire. Metal and rubber squealed against pavement as the driver lost control, tried to recover, and failed. The van fishtailed to an abrupt halt. Kurapika shot along a silent, parallel course through the grass, coming to a stop directly across from the car once again.

She would take the drivers in a rush, she decided as she crouched among the prickling grass blades, when they came out to examine the damaged tire. But she would have to strike quickly – before either of them tried to make a phone call to report the incident or another car drove by. Eagerness trembled in her heart, but her hands remained steady.

_Be cold. Be cold and calm as snow on the mountain,_ she chanted to herself. _Then bury them beneath the unstoppable avalanche._

Kurapika waited for her moment.

* * *

><p>Hours later and miles away, she slumped to the ground, exhausted and drained and unable to cry. The Eyes bobbed sightlessly in their cracked container before her. Seeing them again, touching them one more time – it had been nothing like what she expected.<p>

Kurapika pressed her face into her hands, surprised when her skin felt smooth and cool and untouched; it should have been a ruin of blood and bile and tears.

_This is the price,_ she snarled at herself fiercely. _Spend what's left of your life paying for other people's sins. _

Chains bit into her wrist, reminding her of all the reasons she had to keep fighting. The glass prison of the eyes that had once belonged to someone she loved slid under her shaking fingers. Ruthlessly, she dragged the case to her chest and hauled her trembling body to its feet. Her pack of belongings bulged strangely when she stuffed the stolen case into it.

Hands unsteady, she swung it over one shoulder. The canvas bag settled at her side, an awkward, unfamiliar weight.

_No one will ever return to carry this burden with me._

Looking up at the sky for the first time in hours, Kurapika found that the stars had dimmed. Pale light glowed in the eastern sky, washing over the withered grasses around her. Everything about the retrieval of the Eyes, at least, had gone as planned … but remaining so close to the Hunter Association's base would attract unwanted attention. She needed to keep moving. If she stopped now, she was certain that she would never be able to get up again.

Turning her back on civilization, she set out for the blue shadows of distant hills. The tall grasses hissed around her, tangling her steps, and stinging insects whined hungrily at her ears. She knew it was irrational, even dangerous, to go this way – shunning both the threat and the safety of other humans for the solitude of the wilds – but in her chaotic emotional state it was impossible to care.

Blood from her bitten lips tainted every breath.

She walked mechanically for miles; the sun's bright ascent first warming, then burning her as morning and midday came and went. Sweat and dust stained her skin. Grass seeds and pollen scattered from her fingertips as she brushed through the plants. For hours, she thought only of how to place her feet most easily among the rounded clumps of roots and how to avoid the shallow, annoying scratches of sharp-edged grass blades.

Hand outstretched to hold more waving stems of grass away from her face, she felt a light, tickling resistance. Kurapika blinked a second, her reverie disturbed, and realized that she had just reached through a spider's web. Skeins of near-invisible thread clung to her skin. She paused, then withdrew deliberately. Empty even of its maker, the web gaped in tattered ruins – its pattern broken by her fingers.

_Spider._

With a sudden sigh, Kurapika cast herself backwards. Plants bent and cushioned her fall a little; still, the impact of her back against the hard ground helped recall her wandering, disordered mind. The sweet taste of dusty earth tethered her to the present.

High above, a hawk coasted in deceptively lazy arcs, no doubt hunting the scurrying rodents and other small prey that Kurapika could sense rustling around her. _The world is a cruel place,_ she observed as the raptor dove to catch a smaller bird that rose too far above the safe cover of the ground. _It stops for no one._

A lifetime ago, she had made plans to return the Eyes to Lukuso Mountain; to hold the ancient rites and bury them in the ashes of home; to appease them by watering the graves in the blood of their killers. But sometime over the course of the last twenty-four hours the idea had become unbearable. _I will never last long enough to cross half a continent and an ocean, anyway,_ she thought with a cutting flicker of self-contempt. _Never be able to return there now._

The weight of memories would break her.

Kurapika acknowledged that weakness and moved on. There was no purpose in torturing herself further over it; no point drowning in the endless darkness of the past when the present had enough troubles of its own.

Trembling blades of yellow grass shaded her face, thin slashes of shadow across the sun and parched blue sky. She would need to find more water soon, and food as well – though the thought evoked no particular hunger or thirst. Judging from the faint, feverish heat of the flush on her face, however, she was already in danger of dehydration. Taking off into the hills of an unfamiliar place without basic preparation was stupid; her knowledge of the region's geography, indigenous wildlife, and probable hazards was scant.

_At least I have a little water in the bottle in my bag._

First, though, she would have to find some more. Hauling herself to her feet, Kurapika shouldered the small bag that carried all her worldly possessions. _The Eyes, too._ That knowledge did not bring the comfort or happiness that she once expected it would.

Looking back the way she had come, she saw only a plain of tasseled grasses. It was too easy to get lost in private introspection out here ― away from the distracting press of other people's concerns and plans. Time passed strangely: a succession of disconnected moments. She set out again, taking step after step deeper into the pathless wilderness. Her awareness of it reawakened, the pack at her side grew heavier every passing moment.


	2. Funeral Games

**Chapter One:** Funeral Games

At Kuroro's request, Pakunoda and Shalnark joined him a few days early. He waited for them in the hotel, reading a book and mulling over the shape of his plans. He wanted the York Shin operation to have as flexible a structure as possible – thus the gathering of all thirteen Spiders – with a sliding scale of priorities and objectives that could be attained in any order necessary. He wanted this to be their most impressive job yet.

But then, that was how he felt about every new heist.

Pakunoda arrived first, entering decorously through the front doors.

"Dancho," she said once in range of polite conversation. "How have you been?"

"Scheming," he smiled, without looking up from his book.

"Really?" a cheerful, boyish voice called from high above them. Shalnark perched on the edge of a broken skylight, an irrepressible grin plastered over his face. "Then I'm in time for all the fun."

Kuroro put his book away.

"Our initial target is the Mafia's underground auction," he opened without preamble. "We're taking everything from their private block."

Shalnark whistled, impressed, and flipped down to land beside Pakunoda.

"The mafia?" Pakunoda asked, hesitant. "I thought we were done with them."

She had reason to ask: after their last job with the community, she had used her nen-skill to erase their memories of the Ryodan herself.

"We were," he told her shortly. "Until they reopened the slave trade out of Shooting Star City."

"I thought we beat them out of that," commented Shalnark, in a deceptively friendly tone.

"It's running under the cover of their usual recruitment centers," Kuroro explained. "But over the last year, all the people hired have disappeared and keep on disappearing. There are various explanations being tossed around – but none of them hold up under real investigation. Regular numbers of a few of the more prominent mob families are also beginning to decline."

"No evidence of a turf war?" Pakunoda asked. "Tensions were running high after we … ah, reorganized the upper hierarchy."

He flicked a smile at her tactful avoidance of the more bloody terms that could be applied to their last altercation with the mob; but his voice was serious when he replied.

"No internal feuds. In fact, the godfathers have been actively promoting good-will among the lesser bosses where they would usually encourage competition. I don't trust all this apparent harmony and cooperation: it can only mean that there's something big going on at the highest level."

"And you think it's connected to the Shooting Star's missing citizens?" Shalnark frowned. "If so, it's remarkably well hidden. I hadn't heard any rumors, not even on the net or the Hunter's website."

"If it's this important, they've probably set up a private network for communications."

Kuroro nodded at Pakunoda's conclusion. "I think so too. Which is why I called the two of you in early. This week, we're going to stir up their auction and see in which direction the blood runs. But before that I want to know how far up the ladder we need to climb in order to get the truth."

"What do you want us to do?" Shalnark asked briskly, convinced.

"See if you can follow a trail from their usual online activities to anything unusual. Try the banks: money always leads somewhere."

"I'd best go acquire a computer, then, and get to work." Shalnark waved a cheerful hand even as he headed for the window. "I'll zap some electricity in this direction too."

After he left, Kuroro and Pakunoda sat in silence a moment.

"Dancho …"

He could hear the reluctance to doubt him in her voice, but one of the things that made her his unofficial second-in-command was the fact that she would ask the hard questions anyway.

"Worried about the consequences?"

She nodded, adding: "We made a clean break from the mafia years ago. Are you really sure that you want to declare war like this?"

"War isn't really our style."

"And you're not just after the auction to stir up the ant's nest," she retorted tartly. "There's at least two or three other reasons, or you wouldn't have called for all of us. And you wouldn't be putting this much energy into the research at this point – you'd have already done it already if you weren't waiting on someone else's last minute plans."

_We've been working together for too long,_ he thought with a wry twist of humor.

"Hm." If she insisted on knowing, he would explain. "I believe that we might need to make our rearrangement of the Mafia's internal structure more permanent."

"How so?"

"I want to gut them," Kuroro said with an edged smile. "They'll be so busy trying to recover that they won't even _dream_ about retaliation."

"Steal the items from the auction …" She tapped a manicured nail as she considered it. "Cripple the wealthiest families financially even while taking out their dons and representatives."

"We take the treasure and remove a threat all at once," he nodded, recapturing her direct attention.

"You want us to act anonymously?"

And he knew that he had won her full support.

"No one in the mafia knows all of our faces," he reassured her. "You left a few contacts open for black-market dealings, but they haven't seen all of us in one place at one time – at least not that they remember. I think the Spider should be reasonably assured of personal safety here. We'll identify ourselves only to the ten godfathers."

"And what about Shooting Star?"

"The city will survive even if we fail. Last time, we attempted to free it from mafia control without sacrificing the ability to negotiate with them for resources. But I think now that might have been a mistake. Shooting Star will never reopen the slave trade, and if the mafia intends to violate that … then we'll just have to get rid of them."

The relationship between the Ryodan and Shooting Star was a bit distant most of the time, but all the members considered the city their unofficial permanent base – since that was where the Spider had been born – and no one was allowed to play on their turf without permission.

"Very well." Paku did not look happy, but he could tell that she would cooperate. "I'll start looking around town for a contact. One or all of them should be here for the auction."

"Good."

He listened to her footsteps fading into the distance, and returned to his book.

* * *

><p>The town was small, more of a glorified truck stop that had sprung up between real destinations than anything else. Kurapika arrived at dusk, tramping in along the highway and eliciting very little attention beyond the occasional, unwelcome, offer of a lift from men attracted by her face and discouraged by her glare. The brown wig she used to disguise herself during the ambush felt hot and scratchy on her head, but she kept wearing it as a precaution anyway.<p>

Upon checking into a cheap, but relatively clean, motel her first move was to take a shower. Her second was to take the map from her bag and spread it out on the floor.

Paper rustled in the quiet of the room as she carefully tacked each of the four corners down with books from her bag. The world stretched out in two dimensions before her: colored lines of elevation and continent and coastline and ocean; cities and highways and other points of human interest labeled in black ink. Her own notations were written neatly in the margins, thin red lines and circles marking the locations of the Kurata Eyes – those whose locations she knew, at least.

_One pair._ She didn't need to make any sort of note about it; impossible, unthinkable, to lose track of how many of the Eyes she had reclaimed. One tiny crimson X, however, went down to signify the place where she had held the funeral: a peaceful spot beside a shallow, murmuring creek lined with low trees; she had burned the eyes and buried their glass case in the silty mud of the waterside.

Kurapika sat cross legged before the map in the motel room, drinking cold water and thinking hard.

The deadline for returning to the Nostrad estate and joining the ranks of their bodyguards had come and gone during the week spent wandering the plains. She could not waste time mourning the lost opportunity. After obtaining the first pair of Eyes from the Hunter Association, she realized that she could never have given a pair to a body-collector – even temporarily.

Her previous plan, crafted so painstakingly over months of research and training, had been scrapped in the moment it took to realize that the remains of her kinsman were resting in her own hands ― that she was separated from someone she loved by nothing but a fragile pane of glass and the unbreakable barrier of death.

Tracing the surface of the earth printed on paper, Kurapika's finger came to rest on the marker for York Shin. One day's journey by airship, two by train … much too far away to walk. _Not in time, anyway._

She still intended to attend the York Shin auctions, but on her own behalf. A pair of the Scarlet Eyes would be sold at night, and she didn't want to waste time tracking the person who bought them. _I don't want to see them passed from collector to collector ― not now that I have the power to take them back. Definitely not!_

Remembering another detail, she removed the cellphone from her bag and plugged it in to charge. Hisoka would contact her sooner or later, and she wanted to have as much warning about his plans as possible. Without a mafia family to provide an open door to the criminal underworld, she would be that much more dependent on the possibility of an alliance with the magician.

_A bad position to be in,_ the Kurata knew. Hisoka was unpredictable at best; she could trust him even less than she trusted people in general.

_In other words: not at all._

As an added complication, her friends would also be in York Shin. Already she regretted suggesting the place as a meeting point; in some ways, she regretted allowing herself to befriend them at all. _To be strictly accurate, they befriended me,_ she corrected herself with an unwilling flicker of a smile. The expression dropped quickly. _No, I also wanted … something. Some sort of connection to other people. If anything happens, it will be my responsibility._

There were good reasons that the Kurata clan had chosen to exile itself in the remote mountains. Getting attached to outsiders was a good way to get hurt.

Not that she suspected any of her particular friends of betrayal. Gon was an innocent, if amoral, child and Leorio was – despite his insistence that he lived for money – a genuinely good person. Only Killua gave her cause for concern, but he had proved several times over that he had no desire to return to the life of a Zoaldyek assassin … and she wouldn't hold his origins against him. He could be counted on to act in his self-interest during everything save a crisis; but those interests had proven to be of the harmless, and even tentatively friendly sort.

Kurapika gave in to weakness and went to check her voicemail again; none from Killua or Hisoka, two from Leorio wanting to know what she was up to, and one from Gon in various states of excitement.

"Hey, Kurapika!" The boy's voice revealed all its usual energetic excitement. "How're you doing? Do you have a job yet? When will you be in York Shin? Killua and I are almost on our way already! There's this game being sold at the Southern Peace Auction and … well, I'll tell you later since Killua wants his phone back. Have you finished the secret exam for ― er, you'd better have because I'm not supposed to tell you about it if you haven't and … Hey! Killua, I wasn't done―!"

The Zoaldyek's annoyed reply crackled with a hiss of static, "You're wasting my minutes!"

A sudden click ended the message.

Kurapika put the phone away without returning their calls. Usually, hearing their voices even in something as simple as a recorded message made her feel better. _Not this time, though._

Returning to the map, she knelt and smoothed away a few of the creases. Gon and Killua learning nen should not be a cause for concern – if anything, she should be glad that they would be better able to defend themselves against predators like Hisoka … but that sort of thinking was too naïve. Becoming conscious of nen and their own auras increased their chances of getting caught up in something far too big for them. And the world was not forgiving, not even to children.

Mountain ranges and oceans, islands and continents changed shape under her fingers as she folded up the map.

_Be honest,_ she scolded herself. _The real reason you're upset about the boys learning nen is because you're afraid. For them and of them._ She could only hope that they didn't get too involved in her silent, desperate battles. _Let's stay far apart for now._

Her plan for the immediate future was simple: locate and acquire the Eyes in York Shin. Easy to say and, as long as she broke it down into appropriate steps, a straightforward objective. So long as she kept her focus on the goal, she should be finished with the second pair in no more than two weeks. No doubt getting involved with the mafia would shorten the odds of dying peacefully in her sleep, though.

_Too late for that kind of thinking. Much too late._

She had forgone the possibility of outside help too, with the possible exception of Hisoka. But what his goals were, how he was involved in the Kurata clan's fate … she had no idea. His involvement with the Genei Ryodan interested her – but not enough to drive her into a bargain unless he provided proof of his intentions, one way or another.

"_A high target for a newly fledged hunter, working on her own,"_ Chairman Netero's observation came back to worry her. _"To fulfill your duty to avenge the clan?"_

She tossed the map aside and paced restlessly through the room. The desire for vengeance tormented her with redoubled fury now that she had touched one pair of the Eyes. Knowledge of the truth and the reality of the truth turned out to be two very different things; no amount of mental or emotional or even physical preparation could have spared her the agony of this first step.

_Everything is because of the Spider,_ she spat internally at a sudden upsurge of long-familiar anger. _Everything is their fault! Murdering thieves, ripping up corpses and defiling the dead!_ Next to reclaiming the Eyes, obliterating the Genei Ryodan was her dearest desire.

Blood pulsed angrily behind her eyes, the pain bringing her back to reality in a rush. Kurapika calmed herself; triggering one of the migraines that had plagued the early stages of her nen training would be counterproductive. Red crescents stung the white skin of her palms where her fingernails had bitten into the skin.

_Calm, calm,_ she whispered to herself, curling up in the corner between the bed and the wall. _There's time for everything, if you make the most of it._

Kurapika slept on a real mattress that night, safely contained by four walls and the flickering presences of other people nearby … but she still woke sweating from dreams of a funeral pyre raging out of control and setting the grasslands ablaze under the scarlet fury of an unforgiving sun.

* * *

><p>The Ryodan's first meeting started late, thanks to Hisoka's inability to accept a direct order. The magician insisted on adding his own twist to whatever task he was required to perform – apparently even something as simple as arriving at a certain place, at a certain time needed to be given a personal touch of flamboyant insolence. Kuroro could appreciate that attitude, even if he found it inconvenient.<p>

Ubo rumbled in disapproval at the late-comer's casual disregard for their time, but he subsided back into his position as Kuroro leapt on top of a pile of rubble to address the group.

"What're we stealing?" Machi asked, preempting his speech even while she slid away from Hisoka's overly friendly greeting.

Kuroro surveyed his twelve followers, waiting until his silence had impressed them enough to gain their unwavering attention; he liked an invested audience.

"Everything," he declared, self-assurance written into his words and welcoming smile. "All of the items in this year's underground auction."

_We take it all,_ he thought with deep satisfaction at their startled, intrigued expressions. The godfathers would regret tampering with Shooting Star for a second time. Morning light burned across ruined floor below him through dusty windows. Deep shadows lurked in the corners and the arched ceiling.

"The mafia controls the underground auction," Feitan commented, voice both considering and muffled by his scarf.

"Scared?" Phinks shot from where he slouched against a tumbled pillar. He had honored the reunion by donning robes and an impressive head-dress – though the effect paled a little next to Hisoka's clown costume. But the Genei Ryodan could, and did, dress as they pleased because they answered to no one. And they took what they wanted.

Feitan smirked back at his usual partner in crime, "Sounds like a challenge to me."

"It _is_ a challenge," Kuroro told them, recalling their focus. "Because stealing the treasure is just the first step." He gestured to Pakunoda. "If you would?"

"Our real target will be the ten godfathers," she said smoothly, talking over the mutter of surprise that followed her words. "Last year, they joined in the auction personally – but there's no sign of them taking a similar interest in this September's events."

"In fact," Shalnark offered from where he was perched on top of a broken pillar, "the net says that all ten of them have been _very_ preoccupied recently. They've gathered together to watch over the auction remotely – but rumor has it they've had at least four similar conferences in the last three months. And that's super strange behavior for them!"

"I'm sure," Bonorolf broke in impatiently, "but what does it have to do with us?"

"There's evidence that the mafia has been using their recruitment centers in Shooting Star to revive their slave trade," frowned Pakunoda. "Shalnark and I are still working on several angles, but no one is quite sure where the missing people have been shipped off to. There's no doubt that the mafia are the ones doing the shipping, though. And Shooting Star's people are paying for it."

An angry, ugly mutter raced around the room at that. Only Hisoka retained his crazy grin, but he stopped eyeballing Machi and turned to focus exclusively on the business at hand.

"The elders have requested that we take care of this as a personal favor," Kuroro said into the tense pause. "Even if they hadn't, I would still want us involved. Any objections?"

No one said anything.

"Good." He gave them a dangerous smile. "As she said, our real target will be the godfathers – the auction goods are just a bonus. The priority now is to lure the big fish out. If we hit the auction hard and fast the first night, the godfathers will be sure to start moving. Pakunoda, Shalnark, and I will be concentrate on locating them. The rest of you will be handling the auctions themselves and our own security."

He gestured to Shalnark, who launched into a quick summary of the floor plan of the Cemetery Building – where the underground auction was to take place – and the kind of security they could expect inside.

"I'm hopeful," he concluded cheerfully.

"_I'm_ excited!" Unable to contain himself, Ubo was practically bouncing like a child. "Chief! Give the order!"

"He will if you shut up," Nobunaga elbowed his partner in the side.

Ubo hit back and the shoving match devolved into a petty skirmish that carried them around the room.

"Thirty hundred on Ubo," Phinks offered to the general public.

"Forty on Nobunaga," Feitan returned immediately, hopping swiftly out of the way of a punch gone wide.

"One thousand says the Chief shuts them both up," Machi said without looking up from the shoe she was repairing with nen threads for Shizuku. "And another thousand zenni for the patch job," she added to the other girl.

"The what?" Shizuku asked.

"Your shoe," Franklin reminded her with unfailing patience.

"Too late, Machi." Feitan shook his head in mock-sympathy. "You shouldn't have agreed to fix it before she paid you."

"It broke?" Shizuku inquired, examining the shoe curiously. "Looks fine to me."

Machi drew herself up angrily and Kuroro decided that his followers had spun far enough off track. Keeping the Genei Ryodan together largely depended on knowing when to let go, and when to seize control. If he didn't have faith in their judgment as individuals, he wouldn't want to be their commander.

_But I wouldn't be their commander if I didn't trust my own judgment first and foremost._

"I'll allow it," he said in answer to Ubo's still unasked question, immediately arresting everyone's attention. "Kill anyone in our way."

Another fight erupted as the giant's eager howl offended those who valued their hearing. Kuroro sat down to discuss strategy with Shalnark, recalling Pakunoda to check their facts every once in a while. The rest of the group staved off anticipation with card games and mock-squabbles. Despite the apparent chaos, he felt absolute confidence in their abilities.

"One of the men coordinating the auction's security is our black-market contact for this continent's community," Pakunoda told him. "He remembers my face, and yours and Phinks's, and he knows that I work with the Ryodan – but he doesn't remember the group's origins or the rest of our members. We've used him before to fence items and acquire information – though he's unaware of that last part. If I tap him now, I can get what he knows before we hit the auction tonight."

"Set up a meeting, then," he nodded. "I'll leave the method up to your discretion."

A flicker of a smile lightened her face.

"I'll arrange a happy coincidence, I think," she mused, toying with the cellphone in her hands. "He's vain enough to believe I would seek him out."

"Whatever works best," Kuroro bowed to her expertise; Pakunoda had little aptitude for developing long-term strategies, but her talent for manipulating people to achieve an immediate goal was unquestioned.

He leaned back in his seat, pleased. The Ryodan hadn't launched a job involving all thirteen Spiders for three years. Some of the members had changed since then and they might bicker like children amongst themselves, but they still presented a solid, unified front to the hostile world. They were completely unorthodox and completely themselves, and that made them brilliant. Kuroro smiled. They were the Genei Ryodan – and no one could touch that.

* * *

><p>Kurapika watched blue sky and invisible miles flow past the airship's smudged window. The first of September had dawned clear and cold. Below, the wasteland of the Godo desert stretched in every direction, mesas and cliffs of reddish rock forming an almost comprehensible pattern of canyons ― the legacy of old glaciers and floodwaters that had carved a path to the ocean long ago during a fluctuation of the planet's overall temperature. Kurapika stared through her pale reflection in the glass, comparing the wrinkles in the wasteland to the marks that an ebb tide would leave in the sand of a beach.<p>

The harbor metropolis of York Shin wasn't too far away now.

_I won't be weak._ The Kurata's hands clenched invisibly in her sleeves. _I won't be satisfied, or discouraged, by a single victory. One step on the long road ahead._

But she couldn't afford to betray her true strength, either. Slowly, her fingers loosened from their hard grip. Her other hand, constantly wrapped in chains to conceal the fact that she was actually materializing the weapon from her own aura, remained lax on the arm rest. She breathed carefully, in and out, contemplating the recycled taste of the air. None of her fellow passengers had shown any signs of nen-awareness or suspicious behavior … She felt uneasy anyway.

_Paranoia is not the same thing as caution,_ she reminded herself. _Nervous energy is not power._ It was all she seemed to have, however, so she practiced breathing exercises and mulled over what she had been able to learn in the last six months about the annual underground auction.

Every night for three nights, at nine o'clock exactly, the mafia dons would gather to bid on black-market treasures; civility and cooperation – principles of peer-pressure and mutual loss that masqueraded as trust – guided the entire system. According to the official 'unofficial' auction booklet released the previous month, the Red Eyes would go to auction on the second night.

_How much time I have to prepare depends on how much I can accomplish before the Eyes reach the block tomorrow._ The very idea of their sale made her burn with anger, but she forced it down until the proper time. _Don't feel, think. Don't hesitate, have patience. Don't curse, pray._ Her fingers slowly uncurled from their grip on the edges of her sleeves.

Intimidated by the mob and its wealthy connections, the city's police had a history of ignoring their auction. The event itself was slated to be held in the Cemetery Building, and her first objective was to acquire a floor plan of the place. If possible, she wanted to take the Eyes in transit again – minimizing risk and witnesses – but she should prepare for failure on that count.

Reluctant, she considered that it might really be wiser to wait until _after_ they had been sold and target the individual buyer instead of going up against the Mafia's collective security.

_Maybe._

She had three different plans mostly worked out, then, for each scenario: before, during, and after the auction. _If I can take them when they're delivered to the building …_But even using the dowsing chain might not give her enough of an edge if she didn't know the road that the couriers would travel this time; and the route itself was too vague a target for her to search out successfully.

A change in pressure alerted her that the airship was preparing to descend. Kurapika set aside her thoughts and returned to watch York Shin's skyscrapers grow in the window. Beyond them, the blue eternity of the ocean curved away into the horizon.

Once she left the airship, part and yet apart from the crowd of disembarking passengers, she could breathe deeply again. Extremes of baking stone in the desert, and the cold salt winds of the ocean … both overwhelmed by the bustle and noise and smell of the strange, false climate produced by an over-populated city. Kurapika thought wistfully of the coastal mountains in which she had been born. Even after four years of wandering the globe, she could not enjoy cities.

The airport was packed with people, most of them newly arrived; advertisements for the public auction's opening clung to every available surface, pasted over each other with almost hysterical enthusiasm. Nothing in that interested Kurapika; she bought a map of the city and tucked it into her bag for later use.

_First step: reach the city center and find a safe place to do research and planning … the library? The Cemetery Building's architectural design should be in the city's archives, but pulling it out now would no doubt raise red flags from here to the harbor – it's probably already been removed __anyway. _She was still turning over possibilities when her phone began to vibrate in the pocket of her blue over-skirt.

Splitting away from the group of tourists she had been aimlessly following down the claustrophobic halls of the airport, Kurapika found a deserted corner and pulled out her cellphone.

Hisoka's number glowed malevolently from the screen. _Sooner than I thought he would want to talk_. The plastic felt cool and smooth under her suddenly restless fingers.

Her original purpose in coming to York Shin had been to begin her hunt for the Genei Ryodan … they were the ones who had gouged the Eyes from the corpses of her murdered clan in the beginning. Kurapika soothed her thumb over the rings of her nen-weapon. Who better to ask about the Scarlet Pupils' current whereabouts than the thieves who stole and sold them in the first place?

Before the phone could buzz again, she answered Hisoka's call.

"Kurapika," she identified herself without bothering with a greeting.

"You sound quite calm," replied the magician in an audible smirk. "How refreshing."

His voice reminded her of all the reasons she did not want to associate with him more than necessary.

"I'm not in a place to talk now," she warned him, since even the out-of-the-way corner into which she had stepped was far too close to the streams of people milling about the airport's baggage claim for her liking.

"Then how about we meet up soon, hm?" Hisoka suggested. "Midnight is good for me."

"Fine."

"I'll send you the address for our rendezvous," he sang, drawing his words out as though to physically savor them. A few seconds later, the quiet beep of the phone informed her that he had texted her the location. "At midnight."

"Got it."

"One more thing," he added, sensing that she was about to hang up; her finger stopped on the 'off' button. "I would be extra careful if you plan to attend the Mafia's not-so-secret auction tonight."

"Oh?" she asked, tone cooling even further than usual when she spoke with him.

"Just a friendly caution. Come and go as you please. But I don't think you'll find what you're looking for … Well, not unless you're very clever." He hung up on that ambiguous note, leaving Kurapika to glare suspiciously at the address of their appointed meeting.

If the Spider was in York Shin to take the Eyes again … A spike of pain and fury ran through her heart at the thought. Impossible that it should happen.

"Calm," she breathed to her ghostly reflection in the window. Beyond the glass, the towering buildings of York Shin rose in the distance. _This is the second pair of Eyes. I have done this. I will do this. It's only the second pair._

It wouldn't be like the first time; she knew what was coming.

* * *

><p>Pakunoda sipped coffee and crumbled an expensive scone as she waited in the outdoor cafe. Her victim would be here, she knew, because she had rifled through the memories of his personal secretary not a three hours earlier. He had the bad habit of patronizing the same establishments at about the same time every day, making his movements laughably simple to predict ― one of the reasons she had chosen to leave him open as a contact in the first place.<p>

_After all this waiting around for him to show up, he'd better know something worth knowing._

When she saw the target walking down the street, accompanied by two escorts as usual, the Spider wiped her fingers on a napkin. Rearranging her long legs, she leaned on the table in way that brought attention away from her depressingly large nose and focused the eyes on her more desirable assets. Subtlety was wasted on this particular mark.

So as the mafia don strolled into the cafe, bald head and tiny sunglasses glinting in the late afternoon light, she caught his eye with an alluring smile and a welcoming wave. Idiot that he was, he smiled back. He brushed his guards off on a nearby table, where they hovered without finesse.

"Zenji," she drawled as he strutted over. "What a pleasure."

The short man swelled up with gratified vanity.

_A wonder he hasn't burst long before today,_ Pakunoda thought in dry amusement. _But I can use a fool like this._

She spent enough time among other people's memories to appreciate them for their follies. The other choice was to become consumed by bitterness about the human race – and she much preferred to think of them as an amusing parade of tricksters and clowns than take them as seriously as they took themselves.

"Won't you join me?" she asked, though he was already pulling out a chair.

"Thank you, Pakunoda," he said with an attempt at courtesy, "what are you doing in York Shin?"

_So, he knows better than to trust a thief at an auction,_ she reflected. _First cover story it is, then._

"Oh, I have an interest in the city's delights." She wasted an enigmatic glance on him. "The outdoor markets are full of such beautiful jewelry … all out in the open."

He chortled, swallowing the lie and its implications. _Success._ Pakunoda sipped her coffee to hide a smile in her cup. _As if I would be interested in stealing the paltry jewels that are sold in the public markets._

"And you, Zenji? I assume you're here for the auctions as well."

"Yes, yes." The little man grinned, the scent of his cigars reaching out to envelop her. "There's the usual fun and games opening up here. I have tickets to all the best shows."

Pakunoda nodded in response to his wink, as though his importance were an unquestioned law of the universe. _So he's also smart enough to know that I know all about the Mafia's underground auction too, though he won't talk about it directly. Let's ignore the subject and turn him back to other things, in case he gets suspicious._

"Is that really all you're interested in doing in York Shin?" she asked coyly, using the flirtation as an excuse to touch his fingers.

Nen arched invisibly between their hands, giving her access to all the memories connected to her question. In a second, images flooded her mind – and subsided again before he could answer her verbal query. She had taken what she wanted without him even being aware of the theft.

"I am very busy during these next three days," he admitted with reluctance, turning her hand over to stroke the palm. "But afterwards …"

Pakunoda sighed, "So _very_ busy with special projects?"

More memories passed into her keeping; these were interesting enough that she almost faltered in her attention to the target.

"My work is extremely important," he boasted, the grate of his voice recalling her.

"Ah," she sighed again, pretending to withdraw her hand – but only because she knew that he would tighten his grip. "You plan to spend all your valuable time with your important business associates, then?"

"No, no!" he protested, unaware that she was even now pilfering his mental vaults. "I'm sure I have enough time to spare for … other associates."

"Oh," she lied, deliberately misunderstanding, "I'm here entirely on my own account. None of my business partners are in York Shin."

He looked pleased, and so conceited that it was a real struggle to keep her laughter contained; but Pakunoda had long practice in winning such internal struggles.

"Of course," she added suggestively, "I have plenty of free time. What are you doing later?"

"Tonight, I could be taking you to dinner," he suggested as though it were the most intelligent idea he'd ever had.

"You won't be attending the midnight auction?"

"No, I'm more interested in tomorrow's bids."

"Tonight, then," she rose, removing her hand from his. "You still have my number."

The man stared bedazzled after her as she sashayed off – completely oblivious to the fact that now he would have to pay for her overpriced snacks. Out of sight, she gave in to the malicious smirk that had been threatening to overwhelm her seductive mask. Mind full of stolen memories, Pakunoda returned to the only people she cared about.

* * *

><p>"As I hoped," Pakunoda reported over the phone, "our old friend Zenji is in charge of coordinating security for the auction."<p>

Kuroro left the map of York Shin he had been pouring over with Shalnark and Feitan to find a quieter corner.

"What's the verdict?" he asked ironically.

"No sign of the godfathers in or around the city," she replied, a rushing noise behind her words that sounded like she was standing on or underground an overpass. "Zenji worked security on last year's auction too – and even though the godfathers showed up at the last minute, they would have let their coordinator know before now."

"We're in the clear, then," Kuroro nodded, though she couldn't see him.

"I … wouldn't say that," she answered, with an odd hesitation. "Someone might have tipped them off."

"To us?"

The quiet sharpness in his voice caused Shalnark and Feitan to look up; none of the others were close or attentive enough to pick up on it, however.

"Not specifically," replied Pakunoda, "or he would never have believed I was in town alone. But there seems to have been some sort of general warning issued –– I don't really understand exactly who or what, but someone that the godfathers trust told them that the auction _might_ be attacked."

"And they're staying away because of such ambiguous information?" frowned Kuroro.

_Have they become more cautious in the last few years?_

"No, they didn't seem to be coming anyway: busy month." Pakunoda hummed thoughtfully into the phone. "Whatever the source, all the memories I gathered from it were overlaid with some sort of faction rivalry with a family called the Nostrads. Zenji hates them; and he discounts their information so completely that I couldn't get ahold of any clear memories without asking questions that would blow my cover of casual interest."

Kuroro watched a beetle crawl over the dust at his feet without really seeing it.

"I didn't want to risk losing his intel in our attack tonight," Pakunoda interrupted his thoughts – by anticipating his half-formed plans anyway. "So I convinced him to ask me out for dinner. Apparently, he's got the system running so that he doesn't need to babysit the security teams himself. Dinner should give me enough openings to follow up on the conversation – overtly or covertly. Do you want me to treat him as expendable?"

In other words: _do you want me to go straight for a full-blown interrogation and then kill him?_ He nudged a rock into the beetle's path, still thinking as he followed its lumbering progress over the obstacle.

"No," he decided slowly. "Erase his memory, if you have to. But keep him alive – no sense in wasting time trying to find out who gets chosen to replace him. As chief of security, he could be our best lead to the godfathers' location."

"Yes, Dancho," she replied immediately. "I'll report back with the meeting point as soon as I've found a suitable dress."

Kuroro hung up, thoughtful. _How could someone have such specific and generic information all at once? The time and place, but not the thieves and the target. In this instance, anyone who knows the first two would have to know the second two._ The beetle he had been watching lifted iridescent wings and flew away. _Pakunoda will take what we need._

"Dancho?" Shalnark asked quietly, from beside the map they had set up on a fallen pillar.

He made some swift mental revisions to his previous plan.

"Switch Bonorolf and Coltopi out for Franklin and Machi," he told Shalnark. "If the godfathers have already been warned, we'll need to make a serious disturbance to provoke an unguarded reaction."

The auction tonight would end in a bloodbath, but with Shizuku to clean up after them, he wasn't worried about the first team making enough of a mess to betray their identity. _And the mysterious disappearance of five-hundred guests will no doubt be enough to get us the Godfathers' full attention._ Whatever measures that the organizers had tacked onto their security at the last minute, Kuroro had no doubt that it would prove insufficient to handle what was about to descend on their heads.

* * *

><p>Despite Hisoka's unsubtle hints, Kurapika decided to infiltrate the Mafia's auction anyway. Not, she justified herself as she adjusted her newly acquired tie in the mirror, that she completely disregarded the warning. <em>Certainly not the way I ignored Gon's call earlier <em>…The thought stung her with guilt, but she could always call him back tomorrow.

As for the auction, she would just act with special caution and be ready to pull out the instant anything seemed wrong. Even if the Red Eyes were being sold off on one of the succeeding nights, the information she stood to gain about the internal layout of the building and the specifics of the Mafia's procedure would be invaluable.

And if it turned out that the Eyes were on the night's sell list … She touched the ring that anchored the dowsing chain to her hand. _I'll know. _

Behind the disguise of black contact lenses, her eyes gleamed coldly in the mirror.

Kurapika looked away from herself straightened the dark suit a little self-consciously. Disguising herself as one of the security guards – which she had almost joined legitimately as an employee of the Nostrad family – had seemed like a good choice a few hours ago. Now, though, she caught herself fidgeting with the stiff fabric of sleeves and wondering if it was too obviously big on her. She rucked up the jacket and tightened the belt again.

Tied up securely in the stall of the bathroom behind her, the guard whose uniform and security pass she had borrowed remained quietly unconscious; the woman had been the only one near the right size, but Kurapika would have felt more comfortable in the loose, comfortable layers of her tribal clothes.

_Comfort is a luxury that encourages weakness,_ she snapped at herself, growing abruptly impatient of her own nerves. _Don't waste time._ Allowing a final adjustment of the jacket and checking to make sure that none of her own blond hair was escaping the wig, she examined her face one last time in the mirror.

A stranger stared back, brown-haired and black-eyed and wearing pale pink lipstick. The determined expression slowly smoothed away into familiar, watchful calm. _Remember the plan,_ she instructed herself, drawing comfort from the formula of clear course of action. _Step one, acquire a disguise: complete. Next step: reach the Cemetery Building without being caught._

With brisk, purposeful strides she left the bathroom and began to walk the five-hundred meter gauntlet to the Cemetery Building.

Here in the heart of York Shin, the smell of the harbor drowned among the heavier odors of car-exhaust and food and the indefinable scent of a large number of human beings. The atmosphere of the city changed some distance from the site of the auction, however. The static of ordinary auras faded out, leaving only the bright spots of the guards prowling about the streets and rooftops.

Kurapika took a moment to conceal her nen-signature; only the more wealthy members of the mafia could afford to employ decent nen-users, but that was no reason to assume that there weren't any around.

Her best defense if caught was to pretend to be one of them.

No one, however, seemed to detect her … at least, no one who challenged her right to be there.

The last of the late-comers appeared to have already arrived, though a few of their cars were still idling by the curb outside the Cemetery Building's front entrance. One of the valets chatted with the guards standing around outside the entrance. Despite their casual attitudes, they were all armed to the teeth.

Across the street, Kurapika hesitated in the shadow between two cars. She could probably get through the men stationed outside the building … so long as no one asked to look too close at the pass-card in her pocket. But there was no way that security inside would be that careless, not even if it was a joint force of every mafia family in ten continents. The mixed system might explain why no one recognized her face ― but it would never hold up under more than five minutes of determined suspicion.

_And I don't enjoy lying._ Kurapika tapped at the chains around her wrist._ For whatever reason. A truth that needs to be protected by deceit … that's always detestable._

She was seriously considering a retreat when the alarming prickle of several strong auras manifested from inside the building. Almost in the same instant, a continuous burst of what sounded like machine-gunfire drilled through the night air. For a second, Kurapika froze. Then she seized opportunity with both hands and joined the shouting confusion of guards sprinting for the entrance.

A sudden blast of cool air ruffled across her as she crossed the threshold between outside and inside the Cemetery Building.


	3. Opening Move

****_A little late due to unexpected lack of internet, but here's the next chapter!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong> Opening Move

The first thing Kurapika noticed was that there was no blood.

Inside, the Cemetery Building smelled like too much perfume, exotic plants, the acrid tang of gunsmoke, sweat … but not blood. Guards muttered to each other in tight groups, milling about in tense confusion. Kurapika kept her facade of purposeful assurance – too soon the mafia would recover and reorganize itself. She crossed the marbled lobby, moving confidently through its hot-house plants and squat, square pillars, without slowing.

It was easy to find the hall in which the auction was supposed to even now be taking place; all she had to do was follow the guards with the most panicked expressions. A cold chill prickled up her spine when she reached the first basement's auction hall.

_Empty._

A large space, that should be filled with the wealthy elite of the mafia, left echoing: completely bare. The podium remained on the stage and the decorations on the walls remained untouched. Thick carpet sank a little beneath Kurapika's steps as she crossed the floor, its burgundy color rich and warm beneath the light of crystal chandeliers. Not even the chairs had been left behind.

Armed men wandered the room, occasionally bending down as though to see if the carpet had somehow swallowed the vanished guests. Reaching the stage, the Kurata came to an abrupt halt as she realized that there was another factor missing. Unlike the upper rooms, this place did not smell of gunpowder.

Kurapika's eyes narrowed.

"Hello again," a pleasant voice said from behind her.

She whirled, the dowsing chain swinging free from its coils around her wrist and ready to strike the first target that presented itself. The pair of guards that confronted her, however, brought her up short.

"Kurapika, isn't it?" Senritsu commented, laying a hand on her large partner's tense arm and smiling. "I didn't think I would see you here."

_The Nostrad family,_ Kurapika cursed silently. _Hell._

* * *

><p>The plan worked perfectly – until they got to the good part. Ubo scratched his head, puzzled. Shizuku stood behind him, her vacuum Deme-chan still held uselessly in both hands. They were stalled, unable to complete their mission to empty the vault. Because the vault was already empty.<p>

"He really doesn't know anything else," Feitan said, wiping his hands fastidiously on a dead man's jacket. "Get rid of him, Shizuku."

While she vacuumed up the corpse of the sales director, Ubo prowled around the room one last time: there had to be some trick to the disappearing treasures. Like a secret room behind or beyond or under this one. There should have been something more. But ––

_Damn._

"Nothing?" The Chief's voice didn't sound angry over the phone, just surprised and thoughtful.

"Nothing," Ubo confirmed as he jogged behind Shizuku and Feitan. "The vault was empty."

"Empty as Shizuku's head," Feitan threw over a shoulder as he opened the door to the roof.

"All we could get out of the director was that several hours before our arrival, all the goods were moved to a secure location," Ubo reported as they burst out onto the top of the building; Shalnark waved vigorously from the hot-air balloon, causing it to rock dementedly back and forth. "Hold on, Boss. We're taking off."

They clambered into the basket, much too professional at the moment to shove. Machi released the nen-strings that had kept the balloon tied to the roof as Feitan hopped in last. The group settled into the basket, keeping it balanced effortlessly against the cold breeze.

"If they knew we were coming …" Ubo said heavily, disliking his own thoughts. He might be content to leave the strategy and plans and boring parts to others in the organization, but he was far from stupid when his survival, as well as the survival of the Spider, depended on his own thinking. He knew the way that things should work – and this was not right.

"Yes?" The Chief sounded like he was smiling again, damn him.

"The timing was much too convenient," Ubo plunged ahead with his suspicions, an ugly feeling twisting his gut. _Fuck._ He would have to be the one to bring this up. Why couldn't Paku have suggested this herself, since she was so clever with reading minds and all? "I'm saying there's a Judas among us."

The faint, muttering discussion of the others in the basket with him ceased abruptly as every head tracked towards him. Only Shalnark, his childish grin slipping, remained on task – keeping the balloon steady with the wind. Ubo did not look at them, not wanting to start the mental calculation of who could have abandoned the Spider for the mafia.

_Fuck. I hate this sort of thing. The fucking mafia!_

"Impossible," the Chief said with calm certainty. "Not one of us. Besides – Judas sold Christ for thirty silver, but what would a traitor gain from the mafia? Money? Glory? Power?" Kuroro continued, with biting amusement, "How could any of us be satisfied with that kind of thing?"

Ubo thought long and hard for a moment – weighing his fears against his faith in the Chief's reasoning and trust in his comrades. Trust and faith, and a little of his own reasoning, won out. "You must be right."

Tension in the balloon dropped, though Machi aimed a bloody look in Ubo's direction for the false alarm; the others seemed content to let the subject die, and returned to speculate on where in the city the auction goods might be hidden. Ubo let himself relax, not quite listening as the Chief navigated the slim clues they had to arrive at another of his improbable – but convincing – conclusions.

"So, with what Pakunoda found and the disappearance of the treasure, we can be sure that an informant exists but he or she is unable to obtain precise information. And despite this, someone high up in the mafia trusts this person. Enough to move the items, though not the location, of the auction."

Ubo pulled himself out of relief at the realization that he would not have to kill a comrade, and answered the Chief's expectant silence. "I don't understand – who told what to whom? And anyway, what about us? What do we do now?"

"Have you found where the auction pieces were moved?"

"No, but the sales director died saying that he didn't know," Ubo glanced over at the shortest of his companions. "Feitan used his nen to question the corpse too, so there's no doubt."

"He's the one I've pitied most today," Feitan said, the words at odds with his smirk.

"But we got the names of the ones who moved the goods," Franklin added in a low rumble from the midget's other side.

Shalnark took advantage of Ubo's inattention to pluck the phone from his hand.

"The ten godfathers are guarded by an elite force called the Injuu," he said in his helpful way. "Basically they're the strongest nen-fighters in the mafia. Oh. You already know?" Shalnark paused to grin as Ubo cracked his knuckles, listening to something on the other end. "Boss says that since the Injuu didn't contribute to the security, that means the godfathers definitely didn't know for sure we were coming. Or that they were busy with something else."

"Their security was disappointing," Nobunaga grumbled. "I didn't do hardly anything."

_Damned boring,_ Ubo privately agreed.

"They were busy with something else, I think," Shalnark said into the receiver. "Like moving the items and guarding the real vault."

Ubo grabbed the phone back, already tired of sitting still. Shalnark could be helpful, and he certainly had access to more information than any bazillion encyclopedias, but Ubo was one for action and getting things done. If the mafia had ten strong fighters out there then Ubo wanted to fight them all – he could ask them questions in person during combat.

"Only one of the Injuu came to the auction site today," he growled. "All the sales director knew was that there had been some sort of change in the program. The Injuu guy arrived and left with empty hands, but afterwards all the goods had disappeared from their chest. "

"He may use the same type of nen as Shizuku," the Chief mused. "Those in charge of the auction will have deduced some of our own capabilities from the similar disappearance of five-hundred customers. They've no doubt started pursuit."

"Can we fight?" Ubo asked, his free hand already clenching in anticipation.

"Clean up," the Chief agreed. "The Injuu should appear if you make a big enough ruckus."

Ubo started laughing madly, swinging low over the side of the basket and drawing curses from his companions. In the end, Nobunaga had to haul him back upright before the balloon tumbled them all out to break on the skyscrapers. But it didn't matter – Ubo was the strongest, stronger than anyone, and he had just been given permission to enjoy his strength.

He was still laughing as he ripped the mobsters to shreds in a deserted canyon outside the city.

* * *

><p>Kuroro hung up the phone. <em>So, Pakunoda's mysterious informant does exist – but his information is truly ambiguous. Why would the godfathers themselves trust someone with so little accuracy? And their precautions were so generic as to be almost entirely ineffectual against the specific threat. <em>He frowned at the book he had been reading.

"I forgot," Hisoka announced suddenly from behind a house of cards. "I made a date with someone for tonight."

"Go for it." Kuroro gave his permission easily, "It's not a problem so long as you're back by six tomorrow evening."

He didn't look up, but he could tell the other man was smirking in way that promised trouble for somebody.

"A dirty trick, Hisoka?"

"Evidently."

The magician was definitely smirking. But so long as his trouble didn't endanger the rest of the group and he returned on time, Kuroro didn't care what private mischief he got up to. Asking too many questions of Hisoka invariably led to unpleasant answers. Of all the Ryodan, he was the only one to have challenged a former member for his place and number in the organization – and won. Kuroro respected the man's unique genius as a fighter, enough that he had not stolen the other's nen-ability, but he preferred to keep a healthy personal distance.

_I have to admit, even Feitan's quirks are less disturbing._

The fourth Spider's presence faded as he left the base.

Before Kuroro could return to his reading, the cellphone buzzed sharply. _Pakunoda with the meeting place. I am never going to get through this chapter._ He put the book down.

"Bonorolf, Coltopi," he ordered the two in the corner, "hold down the fort. Phinks, we're going to give Pakunoda back up in case the job gets ugly."

_Time enough to finish the book later._

* * *

><p>The first surge of her alarm replaced with cold calculation, Kurapika evaluated the pair confronting her. <em>Senritsu and Bashou: a woman with the nen-based ability to detect abnormalities in the sound of the human heart, and a nen-user whose haiku poetry produces physical effects. <em>During the interview and first test of the Nostrad's, Senritsu had been cheerful and Bashou had been patronizing. Neither trait endeared them to Kurapika at the moment.

"Is she a thief?" Bashou muttered in what he must have thought a suitably quiet undertone.

"No," Kurapika told him straight, not wanting to waste time here. _If they don't let me through, I'll use the judgment chain on them; then their fates are on their own heads._

"Hm," Senritsu commented thoughtfully, her fingers curled around a small flute. "She's telling the truth, sort of."

"Sort of?" her partner demanded. "Whatever ― she's still trespassing!"

"Don't get in my way," Kurapika snapped, keeping her voice level enough to avoid immediately attracting any of the other guards by creating a disturbance.

"Why don't we find somewhere else to talk?" Senritsu, thinking along the same lines for an inscrutable reason, suggested with a placating smile to both of them. "Before there's a misunderstanding."

Kurapika hesitated a moment, then nodded. _These two are strong enough to slow me down anyway,_ she determined. _The real thieves have already had ample time to escape the building._ And if, as was so obvious from the strange absence of physical evidence, they were strong nen users … _then there's even less point chasing after them wildly._

Senritsu gestured for Kurapika to follow her. Bashou fell into step behind them as they passed the rest of the oblivious guards and left the hall. When they exited the Cemetery Building itself, Kurapika thought about protesting – she had spent a good portion of the day searching for ways to enter – but she stood to gain more information from the Nostrads than from an empty building.

They came to a stop in one corner of the building's extensive parking garage. Orange lights buzzed and flickered unhappily above them. The bodyguards did their best to box her in unobtrusively into the corner between two cars and a wall, but Kurapika didn't worry – slowing her down and actually harming her were not the same thing at all. The dry, oily smells of old concrete and motor oil tickled at her nose. For a long moment, no one spoke.

"Now, Kurapika," Senritsu said before her less personable partner could open his mouth, "I'd like to know what you're doing here – especially after you passed up the opportunity to join the Nostrads."

"Obviously, something more important."

Bashou scowled at her tone. "Like what?"

"No concern of yours."

"You came to York Shin for a reason," Senritsu interjected with equal parts reason and pleasant calm. "You aren't the sort of person to rush around at random."

Her eyes remained steady, the pressure of her attention tangible as a cool breeze. Wrapped in chains, the fingers of Kurapika's right hand twitched. It was inevitable, the moment these two recognized her, that she either give up some of the truth – or kill them.

"I'm hunting information on a particular gang of thieves." She chose the least damning of her secrets and threw it away as a shield and distraction. "A contact is meeting me in this city."

Even the tranquility of Senritsu's face was disturbed by that announcement.

"You mean–" she hesitated a little over her words, "–the thieves who stole tonight's auction items and made the guests disappear?"

Kurapika nodded. "It's a possibility."

"Oh?" Bashou, palpably unconvinced, crossed his arms and glared down at her from his superior height. "So tell us about this mysterious gang you're investigating. Remember – both Senri and I have ways of prying the truth out of you."

"I dislike lying," Kurapika told him bluntly. "I also dislike repeating myself, so I'll only say this once." She looked back down to meet Senritsu's neutral, but apprehensive, gaze. "The Genei Ryodan."

Bashou choked, and Senritsu's fingers jumped on her flute. _So both of them have heard rumors, __at least._ The events of York Shin looked like they were shaping up to spawn even more wild stories.

"Given the abrupt termination of tonight's auction," Kurapika continued, "the probability of their presence in York Shin has risen to ninety percent. Whether they're still here, if they are here, or even now on their way out of the city with the stolen goods depends entirely on whether or not they've accomplished their objective."

Since Hisoka wanted to meet later … it was likely that the Ryodan had not yet fled back into the darkness – _if_ they were here at all, she reminded herself. It wasn't certain. The clown had only promised to share information about them, not deliver them into her hands. _But I want to see them, with my own eyes._ Kurapika felt an unnatural curl of adrenaline and apprehensive satisfaction at the thought of finally coming face to face with the murderers who had taken so much.

"I'm reporting this to the captain," announced Bashou.

"Yes, you do that," Kurapika agreed, with only a touch of sarcasm. Inside, though, she was shot through with another stab of impersonal loathing. _Body-collectors._ She had almost forgotten all the reasons that she had to despise the work that these two did.

Bashou snorted at her remark and walked a short distance away to make the call.

"Won't you tell me," Senritsu said, as they watched him go, "just what it is about our boss that makes your heart emit such a terrible sound?"

Kurapika felt the expression bleed from her face. This woman was dangerous. Her soothing atmosphere and peaceful aura could only make her more of a threat; her aura of trustworthy sincerity meant that she could truly be trusted less.

"What a suspicious melody!" Senritsu was laughing now. "I guess my ability does give me an unfair advantage on knowing who to trust."

The Kurata did not smile in return.

"I can tell – you're not as cold-blooded as you want to convince people that you are." Senritsu paused, the continued quietly, "But no human being can remain alone, separate from all others. Complete isolation is dehumanizing."

Too many responses came to mind, filling Kurapika's mouth with the bitterness of her own solitude … fortunately, before she could say anything too betraying, Bashou returned.

"The captain wants us to report back to him in person," he told Senritsu, ignoring Kurapika as irrelevant. "There's a reward out for the family who kills or captures the thieves, but we only care about the auction items. So long as they return to community hands then we don't care who gets them back. Especially if the opponent really is the Genei Ryodan. We've been ordered to leave it to the Injuu."

"Goodbye, Kurapika," Senristu said, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder as they left. "I hope you find what you're seeking."

The trace of their auras faded into the darkness.

Kurapika let them go. Exacting revenge on the mafia remained low on her list; the body-collectors truly were nothing more than a means to an end. Though in regards to the Ryodan … she had no intention of accepting aid from the mafia. _Unacceptable_. She had no need for their help anyway. Kurapika worked best alone.

No matter what Senritsu might believe.

She tried to remain calm … but the possibility of locating even one of her long-sought targets had begun an electric buzz in her nerves, one that matched the steady pulse of the dowsing chain half-tangled around her fingers.

_The Spider and the Eyes ― it was worth it to come here._

* * *

><p>Kuroro looked out on a truly spectacular view of York Shin's neon heart. He was sitting on top of a hotel once again, drinking coffee in its rooftop restaurant. Pakunoda's contact had chosen an expensive, and exclusive place to meet her; the dim lighting and tasteful layout meant that the clientèle could enjoy seeing each other without overhearing conversations.<p>

_So, is this a clumsy attempt at seduction or an equally clumsy trap?_

A brief flare of Pakunoda's aura alerted him to her entrance into the restaurant. He took another measured sip of his drink, trusting her to guide their target to a table within his range of vision. Five seconds later, she appeared on Zenji's arm – looking impossibly elegant next to his squat bulk.

They did not need to worry that the mafia don would be recalled to his official duties. Standard procedure for Pakunoda on a mission like this meant she had already slipped the man's cellphone out of his pocket and switched it off before replacing it; Phinks would be standing guard against interruptions as well. Besides, if all went according to plan then the auction security would be in such shambles, no one would know if its coordinator was even alive.

In fact, he was eating a large meal across from one of the very thieves who planned to rob the entire mafia blind – though no one would ever suspect it from Pakunoda's genteel demeanor.

Ten minutes of inactivity convinced him that no one in the hotel was acting suspiciously or preparing to attack; neither of the others signaled for help, either. _Not a trap,_ he decided_. _Catching Pakunoda's eye as he rose, he tossed a handful of zenni on the table. Discreetly, she nodded, one finger tapping the knife beside her plate. So, she felt secure enough to fly solo. Kuroro left without further communication.

Opting out of the elevator as too slow, he took a quick hop straight down the back stairwell. Landing lightly on his feet, he straightened with a swish of his coat. As he had predicted, a side door led into the parking garage.

By the time that Zenji's car pulled around to pick him and Pakunoda up at the front of the hotel, Kuroro was already sitting at his ease in the back seat.

The chauffeur opened the door. It took a moment for their victim to process just who, exactly, was waiting for him in his own limousine. Behind his sunglasses, Zenji's eyes bulged with horrified dismay; it had been a risk to leave his memories of Kuroro and Pakunoda's faces intact, but the theatrical affect was worth it.

"Hello, Zenji." Kuroro smiled with all the pleasantry of a man who knew he had the upper hand. "It's been a while."

The mafia don stuttered with gratifying terror as Pakunoda shoved him inside the car and nimbly climbed in herself.

"So," Phinks said from the front seat, "where to?"

* * *

><p>The address Hisoka had given her was to a dilapidated house in a shabby neighborhood. Kurapika sensed people sleeping in the other houses, but if anyone noticed her, they did not reveal themselves. Probably, they knew enough to mind their own business and keep out of the way. <em>So different from the Nostrad's rich hotels and apartments, where the bosses act like civilized people. But this is the true face of York Shin. <em>This was where the reality of the Mafia's corruption manifested itself.

She entered the ruined building from the front, ducking through rotten fragments of a door that could no longer close. Broken pieces of furniture and cracked plaster littered the inside of the house, and she inhaled the thick scent of dust; this place had stood empty of inhabitants for some time. Hisoka's presence flared, a tantalizing bright spot of life in the back of the building. Concentrating her gyou, Kurapika walked silently in his direction.

Tangles of wire and dead electrical cables ran along the mouldering ceilings and walls. She filed their presence away in the corner of her mind reserved for assessing battlefields. Water stains created shadows within shadows on the floor around her.

Hisoka was waiting quietly, playing cards against himself, when she reached him. His aura pulsed steadily, at rest; she did not bother to disguise her examination of it. The less pretense she indulged him with, the less chance she would be deceived.

Aside from Netero, he was the only one who knew the secret of her red eyes.

_Killua and Gon_, her mind whispered to her. _Leorio._ But she dismissed them with a touch of impatience. They were in York Shin now, but a different York Shin than the one she walked. The farther apart they stayed, the better for them all. Her friends should not take part in the same auction as the body-collectors, the Eyes, and the Ryodan.

"You managed quite quickly," Hisoka complimented her – on her swift arrival or her mastery of a nen weapon, she was not sure. "Relax. I'm not interested in fighting you now."

_But I might be someday_, were the words that remained unspoken between them. Kurapika placed no reliance on his assurances; his fickle nature made him too untrustworthy. Given enough time, he could and would change his mind.

"I have no interest in useless chatting," she told him. "Tell me what you have to say."

Months ago, during the exam, he had promised to share information on the Spider with her – if she came to York Shin. And here she was. She didn't credit him with the patience for long-term planning … but Hisoka was cunning, manipulative: a predator who liked to toy with his prey – she couldn't let him pull her strings like a puppet, couldn't allow herself to fall into his pace.

So she listened to his brief summary of the Genei Ryodan and their activities with less and less appreciation. Their history of murder and larceny, and careless philanthropy, did not interest her. Nor was she impressed by the rules of survival and challenge that allowed the thirteen members to keep moving even after one of their number had fallen. _I know all this. _He was underestimating her, offering common knowledge she could have found with five minutes on a computer.

"So far I haven't heard anything new," she warned Hisoka as he paused, her irritation sparking anew.

"As you no doubt suspect," he continued smoothly, "the Spider is in York Shin even as we speak." He smirked at the sudden, inevitable spike of her aggression at this confidence. "All of us, which is quite a special occurrence. You have no notion how rare a chance I have given you."

So he was one of them after all … it did not surprise her.

"My goal is to fight the boss, but I haven't managed it despite my best efforts. He has a solid guard. Plus, two other members of the Genei Ryodan stay with him at all times during missions. After missions, he disappears without a trace."

His smile turned predatory, and Kurapika could only be glad that it wasn't focused on her; showing weakness here was suicide – though Hisoka also seemed to interpret strength as a personal challenge.

"We share a common interest," the clown told her, slyly. "Working alone makes it difficult to reach the prize."

She would not falter before him. "What are you planning?"

"Let's team up."

Wood creaked in the distance, and water dripped from broken pipes as she considered his offer.

"I won't offer you false promises," he added. "I can only give you information on the seven Spiders I've seen in action. So it's up to you." His smile flashed again, a knife in the dark. "Do we work together? Or do you continue on alone?"

_Advantages. Disadvantages. How much is the price he'll ask of me? And what will I gain in return?_

Kurapika met Hisoka's faintly mocking look, and began to calculate new plans.

"I have one question for you," she said, letting a whisper of menace swirl through her aura. She had, after all, come here prepared to fight him. "Do you know what happened to the Scarlet Eyes?"

It might be necessary to accept his offer. But though she might compromise one principle, it was only because there were others she clung to all the more.

"Sorry, but the massacre happened before I joined the Genei Ryodan." He seemed to contemplate her a moment, then continued, "After he admires the items he's targeted and acquired, the boss sells everything. The Scarlet Eyes were probably not an exception." When she did not answer, he pressed again, "The Spider keeps moving, until the head is crushed."

_So he really doesn't know._

Kurapika turned away, shielding her expression from Hisoka's prying gaze.

"Don't misunderstand," she said, "I have no intention of wasting time clearing a path to the top for you – one of the Spiders will know about the Scarlet Eyes, and once I have those answers, my interest in the Ryodan is minimal."

"Oh?" Hisoka dragged the word out as though to torture it. "Neither am I interested in committing suicide in someone else's name. If either of us feels burdened, then we go our separate ways. Convenience is the key to this partnership."

Her back still to him, Kurapika bit her lip and tasted blood. _The one most likely to know what I want is the leader ... Hisoka can do as he likes, so long as I learn the truth first._ And the magician was dangerous; she would be stupid not to keep an eye on his movements.

_So many distractions ... is this really the most effective path after all?_ Her dead comrades had waited so long. She loved them too much to leave them in the blood-stained hands of criminals for one second of wasted time.

"Your answer?"

"Tomorrow, same time."

* * *

><p>"So, Zenji," Kuroro said once it became clear that the man would never start speaking in complete sentences unless someone reminded him how, "it's been a while."<p>

"Ah – er, yes," the don finally managed.

"We've come for the auction, of course," Kuroro smiled. "All of us."

"A-all of you?"

"We're very interested in knowing who, exactly, put out information that the underground auction would be attacked."

At his nod, Pakunoda placed a friendly hand on the back of Zenji's neck.

"Who was it that tipped the godfathers off?" she asked.

The man sat there and sweated, trying to decide which way to jump even as she was taking his knowledge.

"A fortune-teller?" Pakunoda sounded surprised. "Who is she?"

Zenji began to gabble in shock again at her inexplicable knowledge. _A nen-prediction skill?_ Kuroro asked himself. _That could fit with the strange parameters on the information and the incomplete measures that the godfathers took to protect the auction._

"Will she or her father be in York Shin this weekend?"

Kuroro rolled down the window to let the wind drown out Zenji's blustering protests; the white-noise wouldn't disturb Pakunoda's work – and he wanted to think. _If I could acquire that ability, it could be invaluable. _Wind tugged a few strands of his hair out of place. He watched buildings and cars slide past as Phinks tooled them around the highway. _But some of the greatest literary tragedies were written about self-fulfilling prophecies._ He didn't want to end up ironically creating a chain of events by trying to avoid them; research would be required.

_At the very least, though, I should remove this weapon from the Mafia's arsenal,_ he concluded.

"Dancho?" Pakunoda asked after a few minutes. "I think that's everything he knows. Do we have any other questions?"

"Ask him about the slave trade out of Shooting Star."

She nodded, and turned back to her victim.

"Phinks," Kuroro said to the Spider up front, "take the short route to his hotel."

Five minutes later, Phinks swung the limousine to a screeching halt beside a curb. _Never let him act as the driver again,_ Kuroro ordered himself. _Even Shizuku isn't … Actually, no. In all fairness, Shizuku is worse._

"What happened to you this evening?" Pakunoda smiled at Zenji. "Everything you remember after we left the restaurant?"

As he tried, terrified, to squirm away from her, Kuroro hit him cleanly in the back of the neck.

"Got it all?" he asked Pakunoda as she materialized her gun and loaded it with a single bullet.

"He won't remember anything after we left the hotel," she assured him. "We can leave him here or in his room once I hit him with a bullet made of his own memories."

"His regular driver's been bribed to swear that the boss insisted on driving his date around the city himself," Phinks added, pulling a case of very expensive wine out of the front seat and beginning to open bottles. "For all anyone knows, she left in disgust after he got too drunk to see down her––"

He stopped abruptly when confronted with Pakunoda's gun.

"Care to finish that remark?" she inquired with deceptive sweetness.

Phinks held up his hands, one still clutching a wine bottle. With a gleam of cold humor, Pakunoda turned to shoot the memory-bullet through Zenji's bald head. The don twitched a bit, then subsided. The Spiders exited the car. Phinks emptied a wine bottle or two over their target's sprawled form; they dumped the rest of the alcohol down a storm-drain and left the bottles artistically arranged across the backseat.

"A fortune-teller?" Kuroro asked Pakunoda as they walked away.

"Neon Nostrad," she replied. "Daughter of the family head. She's in town for the auction."

_Excellent,_ he thought to himself, already making plans ― which were interrupted by the short buzz of his cellphone.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Dancho!" Nobunaga yelled into his ear. "We've killed all but one of the Injuu! Feitan wants to know if you want to question him yourself, or if he can have some fun first."

"Tell him to find out where the auction items are, but not to get carried away. Pakunoda will be back at the base soon. Take the prisoner there – in relatively good condition."

"Dancho says you don't get to have any fun!" Nobunaga shouted to someone in the background. "Anyway," he continued in at a more reasonable volume, "it was a better fight than at the auction hall. Ubo―"

"Report when we meet at the base," Kuroro ordered, and hung up before the man could start talking again.

He strode down the street, coat flaring, with the other Spiders at his heels.

"Something bothers you?" Pakunoda asked, as sharp as ever.

Kuroro shrugged. "A fortune-teller may be a troublesome target. We'll need to deal with this Neon Nostrad as soon as possible. Before tomorrow's auction." More than the danger, the promise of an ability worth hunting quickened his steps. Kuroro grinned to himself. _This__ should be enjoyable._

* * *

><p>Kurapika got the call just as she was settling down to sleep.<p>

_Unknown number._ She dragged a hand through her hair as it rang again on the bedside table of her small motel room. _Whoever it is, the damage is already done._ There was really only one way to find out anyway.

"Hello."

"Kurapika?"

The Kurata swung her feet over the side of the bed. "Senritsu."

"You were right," the woman sounded breathless, afraid, "the Ryodan killed all the representatives at the auction and stole the items!"

"How do you know?" Kurapika demanded, already on her feet and struggling back into her clothes one-handed. "Are – are you close to them now?"

"No."

Disappointed, the Kurata slumped back to sit on the bed, her over-skirt sliding from her hands.

"After we left you, the captain called again to say that the thieves had been located ― he ordered us to back up the groups already confronting them, but by the time we got there everyone else was dead or dying!"

_Not surprising, given the relative strength and skills of an average man pitted against an experienced nen-user._ Kurapika kept the thought to herself; nothing useful would come of pointing out the obvious.

"A-anyway," Senritsu continued, "the Injuu, the elite guards, arrived right after we did and told us to stay out of it. So we retreated."

Kurapika's fingers dug into the bedsheets. "Are you certain it was the Ryodan?"

"I saw one of their tattoos. He was definitely a Spider!"

"And you're sharing information for free because …"

"I didn't tell the captain," the woman's voice lowered, "but before we were out of range, I could hear the Injuu's hearts stopping – one by one."

"You think the Ryodan killed them."

"I _know_ it." Senritsu paused, then continued, "The mafia is putting out a bulletin tomorrow, an open hit list of the pictures we took. I thought you should know first."

So many doors were opening to the Spider ― to think she had been concerned about not being able to find them in a city like York Shin.

_Murderers … the bloodstains betray them._

Kurapika bit her lip. "Thank you."

"Be really careful."

It sounded like she was about to hang up.

"Wait." There were still questions that needed to be asked. "How did you get this number?"

The other woman laughed. "I am also a professional hunter."

_The Hunter's Site,_ Kurapika twitched in annoyance. _So long as she knows my name, of course she could log in and dig up my contact information. It'll cost money and feel redundant, but I should check to see what exactly is posted about me._ Not much, since she hadn't done anything to be news worthy … and Netero had almost assured her that nothing was written about her being a Kurata.

"Good fortune, Kurapika." Senritsu hung up before she could ask anything else.

Seconds later, seven pictures loaded to her phone. Five men, two women: none of their tattoos were visible, but Senritsu had been sure of their identity … Kurapika's fingers skimmed restlessly across the skin over her heart, where even now the chain of her oath was knotted. _I need this –– I definitely won't regret it._

In dreams that night, she stood on top of Lukuso Mountain – her own bleeding eyes held in her hands and the world she could no longer see stretched out before her. Even blind, she could sense the Spiders closing in – the sibilant whisper of death climbing up the mountain trails – and the screaming of long lost comrades reverberating in her ears, demanding justice and revenge and release. But she had lost her voice, and could not express the pain.

Kurapika woke, cold, long before the dawn to stare at the mold-spotted ceiling of her empty room.


	4. Eleventh Star

_Thanks for all the reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>: Eleventh Star

Ubo yawned and scratched at his shoulder. The bite wounds were healing quickly, thanks to his natural abilities, but the leeches the dead Injuu had left in his gut still irked him. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to tear open his own stomach to kill the buggers himself. He drank another can of beer instead. Midmorning sun lit the dusty floor of the hotel's lobby. Not too far away, the noise of the airport and city traffic screeched and hooted with cheerful abandon. Underneath that was an irritating, relentless drip from one of the hotel's busted pipes.

_Boring._ Ubo crushed the flimsy can with his bare hands. _Damned boring. I only got to fight three Injuu and now tonight's auction is canceled … Whatever happened to the Mafia's pride? We can't have ripped all their spine out. _

But so far there had been no sign of the mob pursuing their lost treasures – which, in Ubo's book, meant that they must not have cared about them all that much in the first place. The chief thought they were important, though, and Ubo preferred to let Kuroro do all the plotting and planning and sneaking around.

Across the room, Nobu and some of the others were playing cards … but that wasn't really his thing either. The chief had taken off sometime ago with the rest of the brains (Paku and Shal) to find out if the second auction would be held tonight, and to research some two-bit mafia family ― but he'd promised that the ability he was interested in stealing wasn't one that Ubo would enjoy fighting, so here the giant sat: bored and ready for a fight without a partner.

"Hey," he said to Franklin, the closest target, where the other big man was talking with Shizuku and Coltopi. "Hey, Franklin, wanna wrestle?"

"No."

"Arm wrestle?"

"No."

Ubo flicked the compressed remains of the beer-can at him. "Scared?"

The other man didn't even twitch as the tiny missile shot over his head. _Fuck, missed._ Ubo scowled.

"Go bug Nobu if you want a match."

"You have no balls."

"Shut up." Franklin didn't even sound offended as he lumbered to his feet, heading in the direction of the card game. "And drink your beer."

With a disappointed huff, Ubo slouched back again. No one wanted to fight while he was still technically 'wounded' … maybe because injuries had the tendency to make him mean. Not that he lost often, under any circumstances. He pried up splinters of concrete from the broken pillar he was sitting against – until Machi stared glaring at the noise it made. And no one, not even Ubo, liked to mess with Machi when she got annoyed.

He was just dozing off over another can of beer – who knew that even drinking, after twelve straight hours, also got boring – when he overheard Shizuku and Coltopi discussing him.

"... why not tell Ubo … ?"

"Tell me what?" he demanded instantly, alertness restored.

"Something's been moving around the copied buildings on the edge of our territory," Coltopi explained. "It could be nothing—"

"Or it could be something!" Ubo bounded to his feet. "I'll go check it out!"

"Take someone with you," Shizuku said from behind her book.

"Nah," Ubo ruffled her hair on his way out, "I need to go pick up more beer anyway. And I'm sick of seeing your ugly faces."

That last remark was aimed at Franklin, but he was too wrapped up in cards by now to care. Ubo shrugged and jogged his way out of the base. Probably, it was just a stray dog (Coltopi had been known to give false alarms like that) … but Ubo could use a distraction. Any excuse to kill his boredom.

* * *

><p>Morning sun sparked off of splintered glass, prismatic lights darting into the shadows without illuminating them. Kurapika crouched on a rooftop, the dowsing chain buzzing against her skin. Its familiar weight tugged in one constant direction – the hum of it trembling her hand. Across an open expanse of broken asphalt, abandoned buildings listed in a tangle of concrete and exposed metal and shattered windows.<p>

_Here. They're here._

Like a ghost, Kurapika prowled the perimeter of the Spider's territory.

She had spent hours this morning checking and rechecking her results as she dowsed using the pictures of the Ryodan. Nothing distinguished this location from any of the others on the eastern edge of the city, but the dowsing chain still tightened where it was wrapped around Kurapika's hand.

No whisper of a human presence emanated from the decayed ruins.

_But they're here._

Getting too close might alert her prey – she should keep a safe distance, wait for them to emerge of their own accord. Information, not vengeance was the priority. But so close to her clan's murderers, Kurapika knew that she was already running on the deadly edge of her hatred. Too many lines she could not, _would_ not cross … She could not afford to get tangled and trapped in the web of restrictions and oaths and sacred responsibilities.

Hatred, resentment, rage – they all tasted metallic on her tongue, the rust-red taste of blood from her bitten lip.

A sudden shadow above her was the only warning.

Hair-trigger nerves saved Kurapika, instinct pitching her body into a dive before her mind caught up the necessity of moving away from the force that nearly caved-in the roof she had just been standing on. The Kurata ducked and rolled into a low crouch, pivoting to face her assailant.

"Hey, not bad!" A giant man, twice her height and more, grinned wolfishly. Cracks zigzagged from beneath his feet "You're pretty sharp to dodge like that!"

They had never met before, but she knew his face – had spent the night staring at it and six others with a wealth of rage stored up in her heart – even as red tinged her vision.

_Spider!_

Blood rushed in her ears, and hatred ignited her soul like a blaze of lightning. Before her eyes, the narrow walls of concrete and steel clouded as though seen through a haze of smoke. Chains bit into her hand. _Destroy him,_ the spirit of vengeance whispered. Their auras flared, intense as the lights of an oncoming train.

The roof of an abandoned hotel creaked uneasily underfoot, treacherous terrain.

"And you're a kid?" the murderer growled, surprised. "Whatever, you'll do!"

For what, he didn't say – but it didn't matter because Kurapika was already in motion. _Amazing power ― this could be the chance I've prayed for!_ She felt the crushing waves of killing-intent and death around him as they both charged forward, but drew an implacable assurance from the chains whipping around her.

She nearly cried out at the force of his first blow, her bones certainly cracking – but it didn't matter: her other hand was already flicking out in a counterattack.

The Spider ducked under the chain's hissing arc, the metal ball at the end lashing through the space where his head had just been.

_Now!_

Before he had time to rejoice in his escape, her hidden chain-jail had already entangled him.

He was still smiling, saying something she couldn't hear over the rushing in her ears.

_Not yet._ The links were loose and invisible between them, not yet constricting his nen. _Not yet._

"Hey, tell me," Kurapika said, ice cold in the sunlight – disconnected from the words even as she spoke them. "Are you the strongest in the Ryodan?"

A different question than what she had always imagined would be first on her mind, different words than those she had prepared … _I don't care._

His battle-crazy grin didn't falter, but his aura pulsed angrily. She could feel it, black as a wave surging up to drown her. Kurapika took one measured step forward. The Spider opened his mouth to retort―

And, overstressed, the roof collapsed beneath his feet.

His surprised, furious expression disappeared over the crumbling edge. Kurapika didn't even have time to curse as the chain around her finger yanked forward. The Spider crashed down, dragging her with him.

A hideous snapping of wood flooring and concrete sheet-rock blurred past, splinters of debris tearing at Kurapika in the terrible confusion of their fall.

With a shock that jolted her bones and left her half-stunned, her body smashed to a halt.

A ragged beam of light stabbed at her, blinding her aching eyes as she opened them cautiously.

Dust choked her breath as she inhaled too quickly, pushing herself upright through the coughing fit. In the shadows around her broken patch of sunlight, no one else moved. Somewhere nearby, water dripped. Kurapika shook her head to clear it – hazily desperate to regain full awareness before she really did get killed by the giant Spider―

Who lay immobile beneath her, because his body had broken her fall through three stories of the building.

Kurapika scrambled backwards in sudden, blind panic and revulsion – even with his nen restricted, the fact that his brains were not spattered on the ground was a testament to his unnatural strength.

But he didn't move so, as her breathing evened back out, she nudged him onto his back with one foot, muttering at the effort of leveraging up his bulky weight.

_Still alive._

She had lost concentration as they fell, her chain-jail dematerializing and giving him access to a last minute protective aura that must have saved his life. Possibly her own.

Indecision tore at her, sank teeth into her heart and ripped it into a bleeding mess of conflicting impulses as the chains reappeared at her fist. It would be easy, so easy and sweet to crunch his throat under her heel as he lay here powerless … but down that path burned the flames that would devour everything – even the transcendent purpose that guided her – until only a shell remained, animated by hatred and revenge.

Red stained the muted grey of his hair.

_The color of blood and regret. Fire everywhere―_

She fled: not so much from the approaching auras of what must be the rest of the Ryodan, but from the unexpected ferocity of her own desire to crush and maim and burn them in the hell they had created for her. Regardless of the consequences.

* * *

><p>Kuroro rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling an unexpected headache coming on.<p>

"Zaoldyeks."

Pakunoda nodded, buffing her nails in a nervous habit. "More than one, I'm afraid. The mafia intends to hire out for our elimination. None of the other names were familiar, but it's bad enough."

They were lurking in an upper room of a mafia hideout currently masquerading as a real estate business, waiting for Shalnark; Pakunoda, as usual, had quickly worked her way through the available minds available and returned first. Now she stood beside where Kuroro sat on the windowsill, reporting what she had learned about the next auction's security.

Apparently, someone had come to the intelligent conclusion that ordinary street-fighters were no match for a criminal organization like the Spider.

_But hiring the Zaoldyek assassin family _…Kuroro chuckled, earning an alarmed grimace from Paku. _This, now, will be interesting._

The door creaked open and Shalnark slipped into the storage room.

"I've got a list," the boy waved a set of papers in a half-salute. "Looks like they're using the money earmarked for the Injuu to pay for hiring assassins. And boy, do they ever need it."

"Calling in a hit is expensive. Zaoldyeks are premium." Kuroro opened the smudged window and looked down into the alley below. "Clear. Let's go."

He hopped down first, dark hair ruffled by his landing. Pakunoda and Shalnark followed; the cameras on this side of the building had been put into a loop by the latter, so they were free to do as they pleased for the moment.

"I could call in a favor," Kuroro said meditatively as they strolled openly down the street.

"The oldest son?" Pakunoda asked, lengthening her stride to match his. "Would he help you?"

"If I paid him." Kuroro rubbed his mouth. "It would be one way to accomplish our goal."

_As such, it has real merit – we can pay the Zaoldyek with some of the auction treasure and remove the threat that the godfathers pose to Shooting Star._ The price would probably be double because of the short notice, but the Ryodan could well afford it right now. Besides, one of the Zaoldyeks owed him.

And he did so enjoy twisting weapons in the hands of his enemies … it had a pleasing, ironic symmetry that suited his aesthetics.

"Hiring someone to assassinate the godfathers," Shalnark shook his head. "We'll never locate them by tomorrow night."

Kuroro grinned from behind his hand.

"We don't need to."

* * *

><p><em>Men.<em> Machi felt annoyance curl her lip. _Idiots._

"I'll kill him," Ubo snarled, twitching away from the needle yet again. "I'll fucking kill that bastard."

"Hold still," the medic snapped – one stitch in and she was already itching to knock the big man unconscious again. "If you want to fight again on this job, then _stop squirming_."

"I don't squirm," the giant glared, scratching at the dried blood crusting his nostrils.

But he did stop fidgeting, and that was all Machi cared about. _Anyone else would be dead or in a coma from this kind of head-trauma,_ she snorted to herself, shifting her feet to balance better on the grand staircase of the hotel's lobby – even with him sitting down, she had to stand several steps up to get a good perspective on the wound. _As if anyone needed proof that Ubo had a thick skull._

An hour ago, Coltopi had set up a screech about some killer-aura in one of his camouflage copies of their base, prompting a mad, enthusiastic rush to find out whether or not the mafia had decided to besiege them … with the end result that they scared off their lone, skittish target. Probably, in Machi's opinion, just a curious nen-user who happened to end up on the wrong end of Ubo's fist … _Although,_ she acknowledge the sudden twinge of adrenaline in her gut, _I do have a bad feeling that this is just the prelude to something much messier._

She was inclined to blame Ubo, on spec.

"If he ran off," Nobunaga commented from his perch on the stairs above Machi's improvised operation, "then he doesn't have enough guts to be worth chasing."

"Fuck that," his partner snapped.

"_Hold still,_" Machi hissed at him again, yanking his head back around to the proper angle. Ordinarily, manhandling Ubo was impossible or unwise … but right now he was too distracted to resist.

"So tell us again," Feitan snickered, "exactly how you got half killed, after hitting him once."

"Who's half killed?" Shalnark, as inquisitive and annoying as a cat, asked from the doorway. "Oh, Ubo of course."

"Is Dancho back?" the giant demanded. "Tell him, I―"

"No, he's out making a call," Shal shrugged. "I came ahead to do some research."

The gears clicking in Ubo's brain were practically audible from Machi's standpoint.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "While you're at it, see if you can find the bastard who hit me!"

_I don't think that's such a good idea. _But she set three more stitches without comment as Ubo dragged up what he could remember about the assailant. The card game had begun again in its corner and she was in a hurry to get back to the action – nothing was better than earning money for free – so she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't need intuition to know that Ubo was too hot-headed to listen anyway.

"Okay." Shalnark frowned at the list he had been scribbling down for Ubo on the back of a print-out. "So, we've got: blond, effeminate—"

"Girly."

"Effeminate, girly, it's all the same." The kid shrugged, then grinned. "Anyway. Blond, looks like a girl, hits like a girl—"

Machi turned her head slowly to fix a cold glare on him.

"And a nen-user," Shalnark continued hurriedly. "Anything else? That's – um, not a lot to go on."

"I'll know him when I see him." Ubo thought for a moment. "Chains. Bastard was wearing some sort of chains around his right hand. A weird weapon or something."

"Great! That's a real start! I'll just … run a search through the mafia employment records … on the Hunter's Site …"

The tech-lover's muttering continued an unabated narration of his intentions as he wandered off to the room that protected his precious computers from the damp – sometimes Machi wondered if he was even aware that he was still talking. Fortunately she wouldn't have to deal with him once this job ended. Not for a while at least. And, unlike Ubo, Shalnark never tried to stiff her.

Machi snipped the last thread off with her teeth.

"Pay up," she told Nobunaga. "I'm not running a charity."

* * *

><p>Fury still pounded through her veins, burning behind Kurapika's eyes and wracking her whole body with fine tremors. But the release of killing the Spiders was a secondary consideration because she <em>needed<em> their information to find the rest of the Eyes ― there was no room to forget that fact, and she had held onto it desperately in the seconds that she stared down at the Spider's helpless body. Killing one would make the others more wary, harder to catch unawares. She had already let anger draw her into wasting the only question she'd had time to ask on a secondary concern; no matter that he hadn't had time to answer, _she_ had wasted precious time.

So she would control her desire to destroy them. She could be satisfied with slamming her fist into his unconscious face and feeling him begin to bleed before she walked away. She could be satisfied for now.

_Monster._

Kurapika breathed in. Then she breathed out again. Shadowy, quiet buildings surrounded her as she worked her way deeper into the back slums of York Shin. Trash and burned out cigarettes crumpled beneath her feet. This far from the harbor, she could not even smell the ocean. _Keep moving, one step __at a time,_ she reminded herself over and over again. Each step forward was a step that brought her closer to Eyes, farther from the edge of madness.

With the inexorable force of long practice, she crushed her rage, letting it subside as she walked. _Keep moving, keep control._ The red would answer the call of her anger when she required it. Now, she needed to preserve a spirit as lucid and untouchable as the sun.

No matter the cost to her pride, she could not charge into the Ryodan's lair to face their uneven odds. The whole purpose of the chain-jail was to level things between them, and more than level: give her the unquestioned advantage she needed to imprison them and force out the answers to all the questions that poisoned her heart. Initially, revenge had been a means to an end than an end itself … but coming face to face with the Spider was, in its own way, as much of a shock as acquiring the first pair of Eyes had been.

Pigeons babbled to each other overhead, taking flight at her approach. The rushing sound of their wings cooled her head, reminded her of the peaceful mountains with an ache of sorrow as strong as rage. It was harvest time now, when the fields in their hidden terraces would be pale and golden – the color of her people's hair. But this year, like all the others since the massacre, the grain would feed only the crows.

_Alone. I am alone._

Paper rustled underfoot. Kurapika stopped, and slowly lifted her foot from off a crumpled flier She knelt in the trash and picked it up. Seven now-familiar snapshots stained the wrinkled paper.

A wanted poster — Senritsu hadn't been lying about the Mafia's intentions for the Ryodan.

_Kill them! Make them suffer._ Memories pressed close, suffocating. In the red of her disguised eyes, shapes transformed around her: a fallen trashcan became a corpse, shadows and light became fire and ashes, the ocean's unheard rhythm a heart slowly bleeding out.

Kurapika shook it off.

_Wait for me,_ she promised the dead. _I will find you. Not even the Spider will stop me._

One last deep breath … and then she stuffed the flier out of sight in her pocket.

* * *

><p>Ubo took the papers from Shalnark.<p>

"That's it?" he demanded, flicking through the woefully scant pages of mafia employees, most whom barely fit his description. "Half these guys aren't even registered as in York Shin!"

Shal tapped at the keys of the computer absently, already moving on to whatever his next job was. "That's the whole list. Sorry. Are you _sure_ he was blond?" The kid tapped his head. "Maybe the impact messed up your short-term memory."

Ubo tossed the papers down impatiently. _Shit._ The skinny bastard had taken the time to land a solid blow on his face before he left him unconscious – as if in taunting reminder that he _could_ have snuffed Ubo, and chosen not to. _Son of a bitch. _Unless the Chief himself ordered the giant to remain in the hideout, he wouldn't return until he had returned the favor and smashed the chain-user's head in. But Kuroro did not interfere with his followers' personal affairs so long as they did not interfere with the group's best interests. And the blond brat snooping around their territory threatened the Spider simply by existing anyway.

"_Hey – are you the strongest in the Ryodan?"_ The memory of those words, the cold expression on the boy's face as he said them, kept replaying in Ubo's mind. It didn't take someone with the intellect of Kuroro to figure out that the intruder knew exactly who was hiding in the broken junkyard of buildings.

"Maybe it really was a woman," Shalnark suggested, trying to be helpful.

"Only girl I ever met who punches like that is Machi," he growled back. "And why the hell would someone as strong as Machi run away from a good fight? At least _try_ to finish me off!"

"Er – he has good survival instincts?"

"Then he definitely would have killed me when he had the chance. Spineless bastard." Ubo ruffled the boy's hair. "Whatever. I'll find him my own way. But thanks, Shal."

Scooping up another six-pack of beer, he took off for the exit.

"No problem!" Shal yelled after the giant. "Call my cell if you need anything. But next time you pay me! Real money, Ubo!"

The eleventh Spider was still laughing at that when he left the base.

He drank steadily throughout the afternoon and into the evening, to purge the dead Injuu's leeches from his system; but his size and the nature of his nen-enhanced body kept him from becoming more than mildly buzzed.

Of course, a giant man drinking copious amounts of alcohol would generally have been denied entrance to the places that Ubo was investigating. But people seemed to become selectively blind and deaf to his presence –– maybe because the mob was in town, or maybe just because he was too impressive to be questioned. Ubo grinned to himself as he broke down the door of another hotel suite. Once again, though, none of the mobsters he interrogated seemed to know anything.

Ubo slumped on the creaking metal of a fire-escape, losing heart. _Shit._ He took another swallow of lukewarm beer. _What a boring end to a promising fight._

He was just thinking about _thinking_ about violating Kuroro's orders and storming into the Cemetery Building to flush out the big prizes, when a familiar aura intruded on his drinking.

"Hiya, Ubo," Hisoka said from behind him, his presence as welcome as week-old dead meat. "A little bird told me you've been looking for something."

* * *

><p>Pacing the relative sanctuary of her motel room, Kurapika wasted an afternoon bringing herself back from the brink of suicide. <em>I cannot go back there. Not to their base, when there's nothing to gain but a quick death. <em>Right now she was too susceptible to the influence of outside factors, too emotional and tense to make the kind of rational decisions necessary.

The poster of the Ryodan folded under her fingers, a smaller and smaller square of dirty paper.

_No one will be able to salvage the situation if you screw up here, _she reminded herself coldly. _This world rarely offers second chances._ And, when it did, there was always an unbearable price to pay. She knew it all too well.

Impatient, Kurapika jerked the curtains of her window open. From the hill on which the motel had been built, she had been pleased to realize she could see a good deal of the wasteland. The view counteracted the claustrophobic crush of the city's buildings. She watched the sun set. The moon rose over the horizon – rusted with the pollution of the city – like a half-opening eye. Kurapika stared at it, heart suddenly in her mouth.

The last time she had seen a moon that color, it had been stained with sparks and smoke. Abruptly, she pulled the curtain closed again. The book she had been reading, a comparative study of ancient cultures and celestial mythology, still rested in her pack. _Throughout history, there have been so many dark stories about the moon … _Her tribe had added their own tales to the collection.

_A red moon is a harbinger — calamity and madness follow it like the rising tides. _Shaking her head to clear it, she turned away from the window. Disaster had already come to the Kurata clan; perhaps, by now, they _were_ the calamity that the moon foretold. Kurapika shivered. The most sacred vow of the Kurata returned to haunt her every day that passed without the resolution of her oath.

_'My scarlet eyes be the witness.'_ And Kurapika knew herself again to be surrounded by chains.

She flicked the worthless advertisement into the trash.

"_Control yourself, or you will never control nen,"_ her nen-teacher's long ago admonishments helped her uncurl her fists. She would not lose herself in rage. Her comrades needed her, more than they needed vengeance. Not even crushing the Ryodan could make up for losing the Scarlet Eyes again. Not even holding their worthless eyes in her own hands as they bled, fallen before her, would be worth losing her mind.

More likely, she would be the one to die – blind and cursing – at their feet.

_Unacceptable._ Suicide in York Shin was in no way part of her plans. She let out a breath, raking fingers through her pale hair, fidgeting with her earring. _My life is not my own._ The tribe deserved more than a short-sighted martyr, buying vengeance with nothing better than sin.

Something Gon had once said flashed across her mind: _the best way to hunt another hunter is to track its prey, to strike in the moment it strikes_. Logical advice, especially for this situation. She would face the Ryodan as originally planned: after the second auction, once the Eyes were safely in her possession and she became free to act once more.

A chirp from her cellphone indicated a new text message had just arrived.

"_**I've sent you a little present ― Hisoka."**_

And her tentative resolve crumbled in an instant, the roof caving-in beneath her feet for a second time.

By the time she sensed the giant Spider approaching her room – the murderer hadn't even bothered to hide the shadow of his presence – the shaky clarity of her inner calm had already begun to erode under an overwhelming, unbelievable rage.

Her phone rang: Gon, again.

She switched it off.

* * *

><p>Killua had known that it wouldn't be so easy to earn enough to buy a copy of the Greed Island game – but clearly, something needed to be done.<p>

"No answer," Gon shook his head. "Do you think she doesn't know it's me?"

"You texted her your new number," Killua shrugged, kicking at the bottom of his seat in the restaurant. "So she knows."

"Don't take it personally," Leorio advised, taking another bite of his dinner.

_Is that your philosophy?_ Killua wondered snarkily … but how the old man decided to deal with what Killua saw as Kurapika's repeated rejections of his advances wasn't really interesting.

The pictures from the Mafia's deceptive 'hide-and-seek' auction bent as he tapped at them again. With Leorio and Zepairu to help, he and Gon were making far more money than expected; but it still wasn't enough. He slurped at his soda and continued to think. Obviously, the risk of pursuing what was left of the Ryodan was high-risk and high-reward: the bounties on their S-class criminal heads would more than cover the price of the game.

_If we had Kurapika _… The Zaoldyek was positive she was in town, despite her stubborn refusal to pick up a phone_._ _We could capture the Ryodan, and make enough money to buy Greed Island. _Probably some of the money would be left over for cake, too.

It was so worth the challenge.

* * *

><p>Ubo could feel the bastard's aura the moment he entered the motel. Which was unusual, because he didn't usually have the concentration to locate enemies from a distance. This time, though, he got the impression that the chain-user had sensed him coming – and wanted him to hurry it up.<p>

Waves of hostility beat against him as he mounted the back stairs of the motel. By the time he reached the appropriate door, his customary grin had faded. Ordinarily, the offer of such a promising fight would have had him shaking with excitement. But his instincts calmed him with the threat of true danger. He had felt it in the wound that the bastard had inflicted on his face: _This guy is dangerous_.

The door to the room wasn't even locked. Arms crossed, feet planted lightly, the chain-user stood waiting for him in the middle of the room. The full light of the room, less blinding than the sun that had shone on their last meeting, revealed a much younger enemy than he had expected.

They stood alone, facing each other silently as Ubo finished his most recent beer.

Curiously dark, burning eyes met his without flinching. He hadn't been wrong; the chain-user's weak build and girlish outfit might make him look like a boring opponent, but Ubo had seen pure hatred directed towards him before and he recognized it now. As much as his blood boiled for the fight, the Spider himself felt no personal malice towards the other fighter. A few punches didn't create that kind of intense, personal animosity.

Whatever the kid's problem was, Ubo would be more than happy to end it for him.

"You've got guts," he commented, sensing no hidden traps and no reinforcements waiting in the corners of the suite; the bastard had known he was coming, and hadn't tried to run this time. "For your information, I _am _the strongest in the Ryodan."

He had seen and participated in enough individual duels to understand the implicit challenge in the other's face – and to honor it because he also preferred to settle things this way.

"Where do you want to die? I'll let you decide the place you get killed."

"Some place where we won't cause any problems to anybody," his opponent replied in a light, husky voice.

_Shit_, thought Ubo, _even what he says_ _sounds girly._

But his scorn was out-done by the casual contempt that shot through the kid's next words:

"I suppose your death throes will be loud." The chain-user's aura spiked a little at that, as though hungry for Ubo's death. "Outside the city there should be enough space for you to thrash around."

This time, then, there would be no cheap architecture to cut their match short.

"Fine," Ubo replied levelly; confronting his opponent and with the battle in sight, he resisted the urge to lose himself in bloodlust. "But you'll have to wait for the Injuu leeches to be purged from my system."

"Agreed," the boy replied; he didn't bother to ask for details.

Ubo felt a double-edged whisper of grudging approval. _So you also feel that it's not a complete victory if snatched from an enemy at half-strength._ This would be a good fight.

"Let's go," he said brusquely, already on his way out the door.

The bastard had the gall to grab a shovel as they left. _Is he that confident?_ Amusement and anger settled with the alcohol in the pit of Ubo's stomach. He didn't bother to bury his enemies; usually all that was left was the kind of splatter that only Shizuku's vacuum could deal with. The chain-user's unspoken assumption that a dead body must be buried said something for his inexperience.

* * *

><p>They left the hotel together, walking side by side. Breathing the same air as someone directly responsible for the death of everyone she had ever known, Kurapika let the surreality of the situation sink down, out of her conscious perception. Neither of them spoke as they began to run towards the wasteland outside the city.<p>

Plans that she had been turning over ever since her escape from the Ryodan's territory continued to bubble in her mind. Despite his size and strength, she was confident that she could defeat this man one-on-one. And even if she couldn't, at least she would die by the same hands that had shed the blood of her kinsmen. _If I share that with them – would it be enough to free me from regret?_

Streets and back alleys melded into each other as she struggled through her own internal hell. She would not destroy him if he answered her questions. If he showed her the way to the Red Eyes. _Don't kill blindly, like an animal – a monster._ The judgment chain would ensure her survival, even if she let an enemy live. And it would be murder to kill out of anything other than self-defense. Kurapika wasn't a murderer.

_Not like the Spider._

The shovel bumped against her shoulder, testament to the lie.

* * *

><p>Some of the Genei Ryodan would have taken the opportunity to knife the kid in the back, but Ubo liked a straight-forward fighter. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate cleverness – the Chief pulled all kinds of neat tricks and Shal's devious streak was always good fun – but for Ubo, that kind of triumph held no attraction. He agreed with Nobunaga: pitting strength against strength was the real challenge. It seemed that the kid, whoever he was, also valued an honest fight.<p>

_Probably for different reasons,_ Ubo guessed, shooting a quick glance at the boy now running through the dark alleys at his side. _Truth and honor or some shit like that for the principle of the thing. Bastard looks like an uptight innocent –– Then again, he _did_ hit me while I was down. And he's cold-blooded enough to bring a fucking shovel._ And just this morning he had been stalking the Ryodan on their own turf.

By the time Ubo had worked his way through to a probable answer, they were already in the wasteland beyond the city. He pissed into a corner of the rocks, watching the color for its indication that he was free of the Injuu's leeches. The chain-user waited yards away, staring at the sky. A full moon stared back at him.

Ubo looked down again to find that his piss was finally white, the sign that Shalnark had assured him meant he was free of the threat of death-by-insects or invertebrates or whatever leeches were. He began to laugh in a wild joy as he pulled up his pants. Finally, he could beat the chain-user to a bleeding pulp without fear of being overcome by the pain of leeches hatching inside his intestines.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he told the chain-user, crushing the last beer can into a ball of cheap metal. The bastard did not even blink at the minor display.

This time, Ubo was able to get a good look at the enemy's aura before they started to fight … and it gave him a second's pause.

_Something is wrong with that._ He wasn't Kuroro, to waste years studying nen, or Shalnark with his encyclopedia mind, but he loved fighting – and he knew what to expect from the brief look he'd gotten at that chain this morning. _Something's weird. _Killing power wrapped around the boy, shadowing his face with an unnatural glow.

"Who are you?" he asked. The kid probably didn't even realize that Ubo was honoring him by asking questions before he got too caught up in the fight to remember that he wanted to know what he was killing. "Your nen isn't ordinary."

"For your answer," the chain-user said steadily, "you'll have to tell me something first."

_Bargaining, huh?_ Ubo thought, watching the boy strip off his bulky outer-robes. _I'll allow it._

"Do you remember the people you've killed?"

* * *

><p>The big man did not look surprised by her question – the one she had rehearsed asking over and over until she could do so without a trace of emotion in her voice. Until she could be sure that it would be the right question. Now, though, the Spider was smiling with what looked like true humor. Kurapika's determination took on another, even harder edge.<p>

_Keep control, _she reminded herself fiercely. _Crippling and killing are not the same._

The shovel leaned against the cliff wall behind her.

"Remembering the dead depends," the Spider replied, "on if they leave a strong impression." He surveyed her expression knowingly. "So it's revenge, huh? For who?"

"The Kurata clan," she answered, proud that her voice did not tremble with the force of her emotions. "More than four years ago, your Genei Ryodan massacred us and stole the Scarlet Eyes."

_If Hisoka sent him to me, he must know something about it. _A feeling that she did not like to admit might be desperate longing for something, any knowledge she did not already possess, scorched her thoughts._ He has to remember!_

"Scarlet Eyes? What's that, a jewel?" In his uncaring voice and expression, she recognized death. "If it was four or five years ago, I must have participated, but … Sorry, I don't remember."

_Because they weren't worth it,_ his smile told her.

And with that answer, the value of his life plummeted.

"Then tell me," she demanded, "when you kill people who don't deserve it, what do you think? What do you feel?"

_What will I feel if I kill you – you who so deserve it?_

"Nothing in particular." The giant smiled again.

_Fire and blood and burning bodies and their empty, bleeding sockets ––_

Kurapika let rage drown the screaming memories in her head.

* * *

><p>"You will pay for your crimes," the brat said in a cold voice that belied the murderous intent whipping through his aura.<p>

Ubo felt his own blood begin to rise. _This_ was what a life of combat was all about. This was everything it should be.

"This is why I can't stop killing!" he laughed exultantly, releasing more and more of his power. "Every once in a while, it brings out someone like you! And there's nothing better than sending you avengers back to hell!"

_It's bastards like you who make the best fights! Revenge gives you the intensity to keep the combat exciting to the very end! _Elation thrilled him at the rage that he could feel pouring off the child before him. There was nothing he loved more than meeting an opponent who shared his determination to win. _You'll never beg for mercy, and you'll never stop fighting! There's nothing I love more than this kind of struggle!_

He swung his fist up to block the chain-user's first charge with a blast of earth and air blown away by the force of his movement. The attack wasn't his full power, but he wasn't fighting to kill yet either. Even as an avenger, even with the weirdness of his aura, the kid just wasn't experienced enough to take seriously.

For Ubo, there was only one way to really use nen.

He met the enemy in mid-air, landing a powerful blow on the arm lowered to keep him from reaching the ribs. The kid went flying backwards, but recovered enough to extend his chain in another strike even as he hit the cliff wall yards away. Ubo leaned under it and hit the ground, a little harder than he meant to.

_Being able to withstand that punch and counter-attack is impressive,_ he smiled, waiting for the chain-user to emerge from the rubble at the cliff wall. _But that was more powerful than this morning: his arm must be completely destroyed._

Then the bastard reappeared, standing at casual readiness, completely unharmed. And that was an impossibility. No manipulation type fighter could summon the reinforcement power necessary to absorb damage like that. _Impossible._ Ubo felt a true flicker of respect through his surprise. _There really is something to this kid, after all._

"That punch–" the chain-user snapped his miraculously whole arm back and forth mockingly, "–don't tell me _that_ was the full strength of the Ryodan?"

Even in his anger, Ubo knew that he was laughing.

"You're funny!" He honestly hadn't expected the kid to have such a vicious tongue. _Wonderful._ "This time, I'll throw half my power behind it!"

Ubo charged straight at the bastard, but his target unexpectedly vanished beneath his hands.

A punch on the back of his head, a kick to his knees, and then the chain-user jumped up and landed feet-first on the base of Ubo's spine. By the time the Spider had thrown up an arm to catch him, the bastard was already leaping away to a safe distance. Frustrated, Ubo huffed.

"Quick, but ––"

"But I'm going to regret not using that opportunity to catch you in my chain?" the boy interrupted. "Stop playing games, it's ridiculous. Fight for real." His quiet voice turned deadly. "You're making me waste my time."

"Since you insist."

Ubo knew that prolonging the fight now would only end in dissatisfaction; really, the kid _was_ something else, to pressure a Spider into using his maximum strength in a duel. And he didn't even blink at the full fury of Ubo's nen. Instead, he seemed more interested in analyzing the force that would soon crush him into oblivion.

"An incredible aura," the bastard commented with a soft, considering hum.

_This guy really is dangerous, _Ubo decided again with a mental growl. He had seen the same thoughtful look on the Chief's face, right before someone's own abilities were twisted into weaknesses. Right before he crushed them. And he had no desire to give the kid a chance to do anything remotely similar to him.

Smashing his fist into the ground, he created another explosion of dust and wiped his presence away to hide his nen. As the cloud engulfed the chain-user, Ubo raced at full-speed behind him. The enemy's back was completely unguarded.

_He must not know how to conceal his aura. His loss. _Ubo struck.

* * *

><p>Kurapika could barely keep from crying out when she felt her arm shatter under the Spider's fist. <em>So this is his full power?<em> She honestly hadn't thought him clever enough to camouflage his presence with both dust and nen. She crashed into the cliff again.

"Nobody can stop my big bang attack with only his hands!" the Spider shouted after her triumphantly. "But I congratulate you! This attack should have broken your spine, but you dodged very quickly!"

"I return the compliment," she replied with scrupulous fairness, getting back to her feet slowly. "I didn't think you'd mastered the technique to erase your aura."

_Not that it will save you._

"However," she continued, lifting her right hand to allow him a good look at the revealing formation of her fingers, "you don't have a monopoly on that skill."

Shock slackened his jaw as he finally saw the chain wound around his body. Satisfaction bit at Kurapika. _That's right, you monster. You're already trapped._ The success of her strategy tasted sweeter than the dust still filling her mouth. Like she intended, he had believed that she was manipulating a physical chain instead of materializing a weapon out of her own aura. A weapon she could hide at will.

The holy chain looped around her broken arm, emitting its healing glow. In a moment, the damage was reversed and she flexed the arm – frigidly delighted by the Spider's horrified expression. He _should_ look that way. He should be regretting his actions. The coldness of her own thoughts surprised her.

_Is this what he meant when he said he felt nothing?_

No, it couldn't be the same.

"You seem troubled," she remarked; it was still strange to see a hated enemy in person, strange to see him _as_ a person. In tribute to the incipient death of a human being, she offered, "I'll explain before sending you to the next world."

_Not to anyone outside the clan have I willingly shown this face. Only to you, as my enemy the Spider, will I show this face of my own volition._ She removed her black contacts. _This is the truth of what you so coveted. Recognize, and regret._

"I can use all types of nen," she told him, shaking pale hair back to reveal eyes that she knew were shining like flame.

"I remember now," he sounded almost surprised, even through his gritted teeth. "The guys whose eyes turned red when they got angry. They really were strong. And you're the last survivor!" His snarl transformed into a deranged, blood-thirsty grin. "It's really thrilling! Your hatred against my strength! A real match!"

_Disgusting._

"You only have that in mind?" Contempt froze in her voice as he strained against the chains again. "This chain can't be broken by someone like you."

_Those who desire mindless destruction won't destroy this._

At first, it had seemed hopeless –– the nen-master she asked to help her had shaken his head and tried to dissuade her. _"Fires burn to their own destruction,"_ he had said. _"If you walk down this path, you will also consume yourself."_ But in the end, his stubbornness had been no match for her resolve. The same was true of the Spider before her.

"What the hell are you?" he yelled at her in frustration when his sweating and shouting got him nowhere.

Rage and joy tangled with disappointment at his ignorance. _He really knows nothing. I can kill him so easily!_ Underneath, though, was a flicker of hollow disbelief. _How could they have defeated us? Why did we lose?_ An idiot like this … his strength must be the only value he had to the Spider.

"I can unleash one-hundred percent of all the nen types," she told him bluntly.

She truly enjoyed the expression on his face.

"One-hundred–?"

"You're an ideal first opponent," she continued. "An ideal test. Because the result of this fight determines whether or not my chain jail is effective on the rest of the Genei Ryodan."

It was that thought that had frozen her when she first saw him – when she recognized his strength and the type of fighter he must be. _If you are the strongest … then I can learn more than just the whereabouts of the Scarlet Eyes from you._ The possibility haunted her. _I can kill them all._ The whisper echoed through the empty spaces in her heart, and filled them with the burning curl of satisfied rage. _I can drag them with me down to hell, with no more than a flick of my fingers. _

"The Ryodan's nen will be ineffective when bound by this chain. And only physical power can break it. So if you," Kurapika examined him clinically, reaffirming her judgment of his impressive abilities, "the strongest of the Genei Ryodan, can't break it … then none of the Spiders can escape."

It wasn't that she wanted to boast – it was just that once she had begun to talk, the words tumbled out faster and faster. She needed his acknowledgement. He should understand, and suffer for it. _The Ryodan is absolutely unprepared for me._ Four years of designing the perfect strategies, looking over her shoulder for their shadows, and such meticulous planning in case of error … it had fallen out better than she could have hoped.

The man was struggling again.

Kurapika didn't waste more time; the purpose of the test was to simulate all potential combat between her and the entire Ryodan. In future battles, she would not be standing around waiting for an enemy to free himself … but if the links shattered so easily, then she had bigger problems than one irate murderer anyway.

Kurapika closed the distance between them and slammed a fist into his solar plexus. Chain rattling, he slid back a few feet.

The Spider coughed up blood, expression distorted with pain.

"So even your strength can't withstand my reinforced blow. It seems that my power is beyond yours."

She could easily have killed him with just that first attack: her potential far outweighed his experience. _That's the kind of precious information I wanted to gain from this._ That was why she hadn't suppressed her rage and hidden in the shadows. _I have nothing to fear._ Kurapika turned the thought over and over in her mind, continually surprised by it. _They should fear me, instead._

Moonlight turned his eyes dark as hers were bright, glinted along the chains between them and made her hands ghostly pale. The Spider's breath rasped in and out as he stood imprisoned before her. She wanted to smile in triumph, but the expression trembled and died half-born.

"If I can hold them with my chain," she concluded instead, spelling out what he should have seen all along, "I'll be able to strike down every one of the Genei Ryodan with my bare hands."

And in his eyes, she saw the look she had been waiting for – the realization of defeat.

"Tell me all you know."

_Tell me about the Spider. You must have a base of operations. Some sort of trophy collection. No matter what Hisoka said, you have to have kept some of the Eyes. The boss will know. You can't have just thrown them away! You can't just forget!_

* * *

><p>"Where are the other Spiders?"<p>

"Die!" he spat, as if he could curse his enemy – the Spider's enemy – out of existence.

The chain-user struck his arm, no doubt as pay-back for the bones he had broken earlier, and Ubo staggered in the chains. He had never foreseen the existence of such a terrifying ability, such an implacable force hammered into a weapon that would bring the Ryodan to its knees. Stripped of power, he railed internally against such a future. Anger and defiance were preferable to pain.

"What nen types do the others use?"

"Die!"

"_What did you do with the Eyes?"_

The beating continued.

Words broke over him, like the blows that his body absorbed. The smell of his own blood and sweat and old beer mixed with the dust of the wasteland. Ubo was used to hurting, and shouting, and endurance. Any child of Shooting Star City learned such things, and learned how to deal with them.

"Why can't you think anything?" Ubo looked up for the first time in what might have been forever, and saw the cracks in the chain-user's flawless rage. "Why can't you feel anything? Answer!"

_Just a child,_ he thought, unexpectedly weary. _A child's understanding._

"Die."

He wouldn't betray his comrades. Betrayal held no promise of satisfaction. The Chief had said it himself: there was nothing worth more than the loyalty of the Genei Ryodan. Even when the final chain pierced his chest, that conviction did not waver.

"This is your last chance," his nemesis told him. "From here on, you're at my mercy. If you break the law that holds my chain back, it will kill you instantly."

Ubo believed him. Not just because he seemed to be ruthlessly honest in victory, but also because the giant could feel the pressure of the chain strangling his heart just as the other chain strangled his body and aura.

"The condition is: answer my questions truthfully," the kid said, red eyes brighter than blood. "Answer, and I'll let you live a bit longer."

_As if I could be satisfied with that._

"Where are your comrades?"

"You know what you can do with that question?" Ubo hacked out a painful laugh. "Idiot."

_Go to hell, you bastard._

He died smiling.

* * *

><p>The moon set as Kurapika buried the giant's body. She could feel little flickers of exhaustion from too much tension, too much emotion, and too little sleep still trembling in her muscles. The savage lash of fulfillment she had experienced when she hit him, saw him grimace in pain for the first time, had vanished like an illusion. She told herself that the unpleasant sensations remaining came from fighting and touching someone so unclean as a member of the Spider.<p>

_Liar._

Dirt streaked her hands and face; the dark earth clotted beneath her fingernails. She could smell the salt of sweat rolling down her skin. A spatter of his blood dried on her cheek. But the coppery taste in her mouth came from where she had bitten her own lip.

_Unclean_, her mind whispered, _unclean._ Tired and sick, her eyes burning from too much time spent in the red-eyed state, she tossed the shovel down beside his grave. _Pay the price._

She could still feel the snap of the judgment chain as it ripped into his heart. Would violent death always leave such an impression behind? She had _felt_ the life leave him, and reverberations of his passing lingered like smoke across her vision. When she had chosen her weapon, she hadn't realized that killing with it would be so almost-intimate. She hadn't even gained any information about the Eyes in return for the weight of his death.

_Nothing in particular_, he had said.

She left the fresh earth of his grave without looking back.

_Disgusting._

* * *

><p>He wanted to leave, but something was wrapped around him, pulling him somewhere he shouldn't go. <em>Chains.<em> He recognized them. And that forced him to recognize himself.

Awareness returned to Ubo as his ghost was dragged backwards into the world by the nen-chain still driven through his heart.


	5. Closed Bid

**Chapter Four:** Closed Bid

Kurapika returned to her motel in a fog of grey exhaustion. No one waited there to greet or be greeted by her; she locked the door on the world outside with a hollow click. The Kurata cast herself down on the bed without bothering to turn on the light.

"_Your Eyes caught the chief's attention."_

At the time, she had been so caught up in the fight that she almost missed the implications. For a reason like that, everyone she had ever known had been murdered. The Spiders weren't an enemy of the tribe, as she had always believed. They weren't even interested in the Kurata outside of the seventh wonder. _Something as senseless as that!_ Over a hundred people slaughtered for being born with an exceptional eye-color. _To be massacred for no other purpose than a color ―_ Kurapika curled up into an angry, miserable ball under the sheets.

She would never forgive.

But she desperately needed rest. The day had begun cold and bright, and ended in the dark confusion of her first kill. Kurapika rolled the blankets around her like a cocoon. _Don't waste time. Stay on the path. Sleep, and be ready for tomorrow._

The sightless eyes of the Spider she had killed followed her in her dreams.

* * *

><p>"A chain?"<p>

Long after midnight, Kuroro listened to the report of Ubo's encounter, injury, and subsequent departure with faint interest. Candles melted around him in soft pools of light, casting wild shadows across the Ryodan's faces. Far away, the rush of cars on the highway disturbed the night. The cold taste of concrete-dust and rusting metal filled the lobby.

"He said he'd only come back after he killed the guy," Shalnark explained, a small line furrowing his brow. "But he wouldn't miss a meeting, even for a personal grudge – and he's not answering his phone."

"You're worried for nothing," Nobunaga interjected from one side. "Ubo isn't the type to die."

Shalnark only shrugged unhappily. Kuroro studied him; while not as dependable as Machi, the young man's instincts were not to be ignored. However, Nobunaga also had a point. None of the Spiders would fall to an ordinary opponent.

But Ubo's overwhelming physical force might not be effective against the right – or _wrong_ – type adversary. Kuroro weighed the giant's capabilities against the unknown quantity of his chosen opponent; someone who had been able to escape him without signs of physical injury or getting spotted by the rest of the Ryodan was quick, but not necessarily clever or skillful.

"Besides his physical appearance and chain, what did Ubo say about this guy?" he asked.

"Nothing beyond how much he wanted to smash him up," replied Shalnark. "We think he's with the mafia, since Ubo said he knew we were the Ryodan, but his picture doesn't match _any_ of the employees on the Hunter's site. And we know from Coltopi that he uses nen, but not what type."

"Ubo is very strong," Kuroro pointed out, aware that it was a complete understatement.

"It's been more than twelve hours since he last answered the phone," the boy muttered. "I should have gone with him."

Kuroro did not waste time on rehashing old decisions. Stopping to analyze yourself in the middle of a fight tended to be fatal. Time enough to examine the blow-by-blow after the battle, after you'd survived. That was as true for the Spider as a whole as it was for its individual parts.

"We're waiting," he said, balancing the options. "If he hasn't returned by twenty-four hours from when he left, we'll change our plans."

First, though, they needed better information. _The ability to predict the unpredictable … like Ubo's decision to hunt some unknown assailant …The Nostrad girl's ability would be invaluable in this situation._

"Pakunoda," he waved her over, "What did Zenji know about the Nostrad group itself?"

"Besides the daughter's nen-prediction skill?" Pakunoda tapped her fingers together, running over the stolen memories in her mind. "They're a rising family – new money and new blood. Zenji himself has a petty rivalry with their head of house, but aside from the godfathers' respect for the girl's ability, they don't have much to distinguish them. There's no evidence in his memories that any of the family employees possess skills as valuable as the fortune-teller's."

Beyond the skill itself, Kuroro wanted the information that the fortune-teller could provide. At the very least, the Ryodan needed to remove that card from the enemy's hand. Kuroro nodded to himself. _Best to keep the plan simple, and flexible._ But they should start covering their tracks, just in case.

The advent of the Zaoldyeks was an unexpected wrinkle, but it presented a myriad of new opportunities.

_Speaking of that_ … the Spider picked up his cellphone. _Time to finish the preparations._

"Kuroro," a flat, but strangely child-like voice answered – sounding fully alert despite the late hour. "It's been a while."

"Hello, Illumi," he replied. "I called about a favor."

"A favor?" A faint inflection of surprise worked its way into the assassin's reply. "How unexpected."

"It's a job that should be right up your alley."

"You know the Zaoldyek policy: no payment, no contract. Unlike you, we _never_ work nonprofit."

"Depends on how you define nonprofit. There's things worth more than money," Kuroro countered. "But we can negotiate a price for this job."

"Then why call it a favor?"

"Because the targets just hired your father and grandfather."

"I see. Mm, well … I do owe you," Illumi mused, indifferent. "And the family won't mind so long as you pay on time. And the correct amount, of course."

They closed the deal a few minutes later. It would be expensive, but Kuroro knew better than to try and dispute prices with a Zaoldyek. He himself was a thief first, and a killer by necessity … The Zaoldyeks were businessmen, pure and simple. The business they excelled in just happened to be assassination.

He turned his attention to the next step of his plan.

_The fortune-teller. _In order to approach her with minimum of fuss and confirm her ability, he would need a cover identity. Someone powerful enough to delay Ubo – _no, it's foolish to let pride refuse to acknowledge the possibility that he could be dead_ – someone powerful enough to take on Ubo, then, could be an unexpected and dangerous obstacle.

Kuroro stayed awake until dawn, plotting.

* * *

><p>Being a ghost was not as fun as Ubo had thought it could be.<p>

He had no control over physical objects or people – so there went every poltergeist story Bonorolf had ever terrorized him with – and every time he got more than ten meters away from his anchor point, the bloody chain connecting his heart to the kid's wrist pulled tight and simply would not allow him to move.

And the fucking bastard who had killed him was _asleep_.

Who knew if he would even be able to see Ubo when he woke up? He certainly hadn't seemed to notice the dead Spider being hauled along behind him as he left the desert. Although, at the time Ubo himself had been too dazed to react either.

So now here he sat, as helpless as when he died – staring around yet another boring motel room with nothing better to do than watch a wimp sleep. _Well, no_, Ubo decided. He was dead, but he could be fair: the chain-user had turned out to be far from a wimp. And now Ubo was going to have to follow him around for the rest of his pathetic eternity.

_Fuck,_ thought Ubo. Then, realizing that there was no reason to contain himself, he shouted: "Fuck!"

But the word came out muted: a whisper even though he had put all his power and frustration behind it. The pain that accompanied it, however, came through loud and clear. _Fuck,_ he mouthed to himself, rubbing his throat with tingling-numb fingers.

No voice, no strength, no escape. All his senses seemed to have increased, however. Even his nose, which should have been dulled from years of Shooting Star's garbage, twitched with a flood of new perceptions. None of them very pleasant in a moldy place like this … but he could _smell_. And taste and hear and see and feel. His ability to perceive auras – which had always been his secret, sore weakness – was so sharp that he could have counted the bugs out the window.

Life was so much more vivid, now that he wasn't part of it.

Furious and hurting, he yanked at the chain – a hot-and-cold combination of metal and nen – running out of his chest to his murderer's wrist.

The kid rolled over in his sleep, as though disturbed. Curious, Ubo bent over the bed and tried to poke him. But, like before, his hand simply stopped an inch away from the boy's head. No amount of pushing would break through whatever invisible barrier held him back.

Still, maybe there were other ways to interact with the brat. Maybe there was some way to keep him from killing the rest of the Ryodan. A distraction at a crucial moment, or even just the pressure of his continued presence.

"Die," the dead man whispered in the Kurata's ear, choking the word out with an effort as it warped the air of the living world. "Die, die, die, you son of a bitch."

The bastard didn't even wake up, just curled into a tight ball. But Ubo began to feel more cheerful; he was an optimist by nature and preference. Experimentally, he let out a warcry right in the kid's ear. The disturbed sleeper yanked the blanket over his messy blond head. Ubo laughed, albeit in unbelievable pain.

But the reaction proved it! He could still _do_ something. Content, for the moment, he slouched into the furthest corner and tried to remember all the ghost stories he had ever not-really listened to as a kid.

Hours passed, and he drifted.

On occasion, his heightened senses dulled abruptly – a grey fog sweeping over everything. It engulfed him without warning, a clouded nothingness that dulled reality and left him stranded in the mist. Far off lights would glow sometimes, like the flash of a car's headlights on a foggy night. Ubo was afraid to chase after them.

The chain alone remained unchanged: adamant links that anchored him and drew him back, time and again throughout the night. The blank spells would last for a bit, then the world would return in a dizzying rush of sensory perceptions. It made keeping track of time difficult.

Ubo was in the fog when the chain began to rattle at him.

For a brief, panicked second, he thought that maybe it was about to break. His last connection to the land of the living would sever and he would be cast out into whatever hell he had made for himself—

It took him another few seconds to realize that he wasn't going anywhere. More likely, the faint jerking motion came from the other end. The chain-guy was awake! Ubo strode fearlessly in the direction that the chain pulled, eager to give the bastard hell. Fog melted back into the solid outlines and sharp sensations of the motel room.

Only it was empty.

Ubo stood, confused and purposeless, in the middle. Thrown off from the list of insults he was going to blister the kid into oblivion with, he twisted around in confusion. Somehow, the little brat had awoken and moved so quietly that not even a ghost had noticed him leave … Then the Spider saw a light on in the bathroom and grinned.

_Let's see how _you _like being caught with your pants down._

He started forward just as the door opened and a blond girl in a towel exited the bathroom.

_Fuck,_ Ubo thought.

* * *

><p>Late in the morning Kurapika woke. Dragging a hand through her disheveled blond hair, she slipped into the bathroom and stretched reluctant muscles. She had not slept well, haunted by nightmares and nausea.<p>

_So I can't be the emotionless avenging angel._ Water swirled down the drain at her feet as she showered. _I won't stop._ Even if more bodies piled up in the dark corners of her mind and she never closed her red eyes in sleep again, she would do anything for her fallen clan. No matter how hard she scrubbed, though, she still felt the grave-dirt on her skin.

But that was nothing more than a figment of her own guilt. It didn't matter if she couldn't feel nothing about the man she had killed. This line divided her from them: she possessed a conscience. She _should_ feel guilt over the blood on her hands, even if she had been justified in spilling that blood.

_Justified, yes … but necessary?_

The phantom of the fallen Spider haunted her as she dressed for the day, coming between her and light from the window like a shadow.

_Another curse of the past to haunt me._

Faint whispers of his voice tormented her, echoing memories of the night before.

Kurapika shook the illusion off.

She wasted time indulging in fantasies; she should be out and awake and aware and active. Senritsu had left a message on her phone, requesting a meeting for lunch that she would barely make it to on time. The woman's last offer of information had proved good – with less strings attached than Hisoka's backhanded 'help' – and Kurapika found herself tentatively considering the small woman as an unlikely ally.

_First, though, I need to know why she's interested in helping me._

Kurapika left the motel without looking back.

The giant man haunted her vision, creeping into her thoughts accusingly, but she refused to devote any more attention to him. She had her own dead to lay to rest.

* * *

><p>By noon, Kuroro knew that Ubo wasn't coming back. The big man always insisted on punctuality – even if taking on the chain-user turned out to be troublesome, he should have called in either for Shalnark's assistance or just to report that he would be late to the night's auction. <em>The fact that he hasn't means that either he was captured … or he's dead.<em> Either way, they had one link to the truth.

"Machi, Nobunaga." Both of them looked up from their card game at Kuroro's commanding tone of voice. "I have a job for you."

It had taken him a while to decide on the configuration for this task, but he believed that it would prove efficient. Nobunaga needed something to do before he took matters into his own hands, or began to pick quarrels with everyone else just to relieve stress. And Machi would keep him from running rampant through York Shin, without losing focus on the objective.

"What is it, boss?" the swordsman asked, tossing down his last card face-down on the pile. "I win," he added to Machi.

"Doubt, turn it over." she replied, then addressed Kuroro. "The chain-user?"

"Find him, and bring him to me."

Machi nodded briskly, her face as cold as ever. Nobunaga, on the other hand, stopped scowling at his cards and lit up like a child promised a toy. He snatched up his katana.

"Sure thing!"

"Be careful," Shalnark frowned from the background. "The mafia still has seven of our faces on record. There's a reward out."

Kuroro nodded to himself. _That was the anticipated result._ It wouldn't do the mob any good, but it might make things perversely easier for the Spider. _Of all the hits called in on us, only Silva Zaoldyek successfully took out a member_.He frowned. That had been some time ago, but the loss of the former eighth Spider still bothered him.

_It's one thing to lose a comrade to someone who wants to join the ranks, like Hisoka … it's another to lose to someone who seeks the destruction of the group._ Survival of the Spider, and the strengthening of the whole, took precedence over whatever bad feelings might lie between the old members and a new challenger. _But whether the chain-user is an enemy, seeking our annihilation, or a bystander caught up in the flow … we'll see if he can survive long enough to meet us all on equal ground_.

"If the mafia knows we're the Ryodan," Feitan remarked, "That should take care of most the hunters."

"Only the Zenji guy knows enough to figure out it's us," answered Shalnark. "But anyone with access to the Hunter's Site and enough money to pay can match our faces. Besides, didn't Ubo say that his attacker knew he was in the Ryodan?"

Kuroro straightened up, mental faculties on sudden alert. "You didn't mention this before."

"I forgot," Shalnark looked guilty. "And I'm not entirely sure if that's what Ubo meant. He was, um, kind of incoherent."

"Does it make a difference?" Nobunaga demanded. "Dancho?"

His fingers tapped lightly down the spine of his book as he thought.

"No," Kuroro finally concluded; whether they had been identified or not, and whether the chain-user tried to come at them in the city or the base, his plans remained the same. "Just be more cautious."

"We can warm up on the small-fry," the swordsman replied carelessly, already at the door. "Get moving, Machi!"

The young woman glared at him as she rose to her feet with unhurried disdain. _On second thought, maybe those two aren't such a good combination,_ Kuroro thought with an amused quirk of his lips as they walked out the door. But he trusted them to do their job.

"Phinks, Pakunoda," he called, when he was sure that the first team was safely out of hearing distance. "I have work for you too."

They joined him.

"Follow them, and look for anyone else who picks up their trail."

Four Spiders should be enough to handle whatever the chase had to offer. _Even someone capable of taking down Ubo should have trouble with a double-blind like this._ Whether or not the chain-user survived long enough to stand before Kuroro himself … _Induct him, kill him, or steal his ability? _He liked to keep the options open.

* * *

><p>At first, Ubo didn't notice it – he was used to people ducking out of his way when he walked down the street – but gradually he realized that the bubble of space around him was unnatural. People didn't walk through him, but their eyes seemed to slide right past his form like they would have if he had been in zetsu. No one obviously twisted to avoid him, but when he tried to walk into a person deliberately he just … missed.<p>

It was as pointless as trying to talk.

Trailing after the Kurata (a damn, androgynous, chain-using _girl_) as they traversed the crowded subways of York Shin, the Spider had never felt so completely alienated from the rest of humanity.

The grey fog had yet to return to block him out.

Sometimes Ubo thought that his killer's gaze drifted over to him before she caught herself and looked away. She made no attempt to communicate … but he was beginning to wonder if he should try harder. A shitload of reasons held him back. It hurt like hell, for one. And besides, she might feel compelled to get rid of him or something. He wasn't ready for that yet.

_Why she hasn't tried to banish me or whatever …_he had no idea.

Maybe she couldn't really see him. Or she thought he wasn't real. Well, he too would prefer to think himself crazy than discover a dead enemy dogging his footsteps. All he had heard about the nen of the dead suggested that it was good for only one thing: killing or crippling a single, hated person. Most nen-users, though, never achieved either the power or the hatred necessary to make the phenomenon common.

_I am still this strong!_ Ubo snarled to himself in bloody joy. _I won't rest until I crush her._

No one could stop him. The ability to clean the victim's soul of a dead man's nen was even more rare than the need for it.

_The chain-user probably knows about the death curse, though. And she can't get rid of me. But shouldn't I be able to kill her, then? Maybe I have to wait for some sort of right moment or something._

That thought determined his course of action; he would watch the chain-user trying not to watch him, and wait to see if she cracked. Rushing in to fight her had ended with him dead – and physical combat was no longer an option between them – so he would play on the signs of doubt and guilt that he could already see prying her mental armor apart. With any luck, she would break down from stress before she could kill again.

Or he could figure out some way to eliminate her.

He set out to learn more about the Ryodan's enemy, trailing after her as she climbed the stairs out of the subway tunnel beneath York Shin's wealthiest shopping district.

* * *

><p>Kurapika arrived at the mall that Senritsu had requested they meet in, searching out the central food-court with its fountain. Several stories above, the sky was obscured by a glass ceiling – the light diffusing and tinged with blue and green by the time it reached the floor. The rustle and squeak of people filled the court, background noise pierced by the odd, lifted call: it reminded Kurapika of a forest disturbed by a particularly fearless flock of birds.<p>

Her steps slowed as she reached the appointed place.

Senritsu had not come to meet her alone.

The small woman lifted a hand from where she sat beside Bashou on the fountain's wide rim, the two of them obviously in place to cover an even larger group: a man with small tattoos beneath his eyes, the one who had overseen the interview of new bodyguards; a few unfamiliar men in black suits whom she could assume were more bodyguards; two unarmed women and their charge, a young girl with surprisingly pink hair and fashionable accessories.

_Cute and bubbly,_ Kurapika thought with disgust. _But according to rumors, she's the one who likes to collect bodies._

Sitting at the table across from her was what must be the Nostrad boss, an average, middle-aged man with a face furrowed by greed and stress. Not the sort of man that Kurapika instantly despised … except for the fact that he was a mafia don and his daughter was a body-collector. _But I once considered using them both._ The thought made her feel sick for a second, but she had it smoothed away under layers of polite blankness in seconds.

The tattooed man rose at her approach, his face stern and disapproving.

He tapped on the shoulder of the Nostrad boss, whispering something in his ear.

From his glare, she got the impression that he would have searched her for weapons if he thought he could get away with it. Behind him, Bashou grimaced – apparently, he disliked his captain more than he disliked her. Senritsu, however, retained her friendly smile as she joined her captain behind Nostrad.

_I need to find out what, exactly, her purpose is in all this._

"Neon," Nostrad Senior said as Kurapika came to a halt beside their table, "Why don't you go back to shopping now? Buy anything you like."

"Come with me, Papa!" the girl entreated, tugging on his arm.

"Papa has business." He patted her on the head. "Run along."

"Aw," she pouted, scuffing impractical shoes against the floor. "No fun!"

In direct contradiction to the words she had just spoken, she flashed a smile and dragged several of the attendants after her. Neon Nostrad skipped past Kurapika, blue eyes peeking curiously at the other girl as she went by. Her father smiled indulgently for the exact amount of time it took for her to leave his sight … then he turned back to Kurapika, his attitude all business.

"Senritsu and Bashou tell me that you know some things about the Ryodan," he said without bothering to introduce himself.

From behind him, Senritsu nodded encouragingly at her. _So, _Kurapika tapped a fingernail against her rings. _This is a development – the Mafia's answer to the threat the Ryodan poses to their supremacy in the underworld._

"That's right."

"Do you have any proof of your qualifications to hunt them?"

"I killed one. Yesterday."

The words tasted strange in her mouth; she still could not believe it.

Senritsu drew back, as though shocked by something.

"That's the truth," the woman whispered. Then, her voice strengthening, "You really did. Kill a member of the Ryodan."

_Heart's melody,_ Kurapika remembered. _I wonder what mine sounds like now?_

"So. That's a high recommendation, then." Nostrad rubbed his hands together absently, studying her. "Daltzorne tells me that you almost took a job with us, then decided not to."

The question was implied.

"I learned that the Ryodan would be in York Shin." She kept her eyes, safely hidden behind their dark lenses, on his. "A bodyguard can't move independently as a hunter."

Abruptly, Nostrad stood and tossed his napkin down on the table.

"Walk with me."

Silent, Kurapika followed him to one of the glass elevators. A negligent wave from the man sent his guards to the stairs instead. Only the chief bodyguard, Daltzorne, accompanied them into the elevator. Kurapika frowned. Both he and his employer were underestimating her, if they thought one man would be enough protection should she be an assassin. For once, though, she didn't feel like correcting the mistake.

Inside the transparent, moving prison, they rose floor by floor through the mall.

"With the death of their elite guards, the godfathers are giving the task of assassinating the thieves to professionals. A team of first-class killers." Nostrad informed her. "The underground auction will continue. Same hour, same place." He clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at the floor with its anthill bustle of activity. "We'll eliminate the Ryodan tonight."

They would lose face over contracting outsiders as their executioners, Kurapika thought, but must have concluded that it was the least humiliating alternative.

"I'd like to hire you for this job," Nostrad Senior said bluntly, coming to the point she had known he would. "There's quite a lot of money and prestige involved, of course. And it clearly aligns with your personal goals."

Kurapika made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to discuss those goals with a mafia don.

She looked out through the glass, at the crowds with their bags and burdens of overpriced goods and the candy-colors of the shops themselves. Invisible barriers separated her from them – the sort of boundary lines that wouldn't disappear when she left the elevator. The crystal swung like a fallen star at her ear.

No matter how much money the mob was willing to give for the destruction of the Spider, it would never match what she had already paid.

_Or what I stand to gain._

Resolve set, she gave Nostrad the answer they both wanted.

* * *

><p>Ubo grinned, an invisible witness lounging in the back of the elevator. Thus far, he was an unimpressed witness; the Genei Ryodan had been hunted by professionals for years. And only once had anyone succeeded in bringing any one of them down. <em>Twice, now.<em> He looked down at the blond head of his killer, and clenched his fists in rage. _By a half-pint brat, too._ Nobu would never have let him live it down.

Something about that seemed funny, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

Their implacable enemy, backed up by cold-blooded professionals who could split up the Ryodan's forces: it was a worst case scenario. The potential for disaster killed Ubo's joy. The possibility of a fight between the head of the Spiders and the little destroyer before him sucked away his previously optimistic mood. Kuroro had ten times the girl's experience, and mostly likely twice her power – but without his nen, he would be brought down to below her level. She made up for her youth with cleverness, and a frightening zeal.

Ubo pounded a useless fist against the glass of the elevator as it descended; like all his other actions, it proved futile. He could feel the surface of the window beneath his hand, but none of his force connected. It had been such a long time since he last felt helpless and alone.

_So long as she can ambush them one-on-one, she'll slaughter us all. _

He had lived and died defending the Spider. He refused to watch it all laid to waste. Which was why he now took more time to think through his situation than ever before: think and listen, learn and plan. Save what little strength he now had.

But no matter how far he pushed his imagination, he could not find a solution to the problem. Eventually, he shrugged it off. His enemy was showing a distressing lack of response to his presence – but that didn't mean the strategy wouldn't pay off in combat, where distraction meant death. He would wait, more patiently than ever before, to catch her then.

Until that opportunity, however, he intended to become Kurapika's own personal demon.

_It's like Feitan always says,_ he thought maliciously, looking for cracks in the chain-user's composure as he tried to catch her eye,_ you might as well destroy the enemy's morale while you're at it._

* * *

><p>The Nostrads, apparently deciding to adopt Kurapika as an 'enemy of an enemy,' took her back to the hotel that was serving as the base of their operations. Apparently, Senritsu's ability to recognize liars and the Kurata's near-miss with working for them before was enough of a passport into their trust. Even Bashou had regained the cheerfully patronizing tone he had taken during the interview last month.<p>

_Not, of course, that it matters to me._ Kurapika sat in a corner of the brightly lit lobby, pouring over a map of the Cemetery Building – where the godfathers had decided to hold the second night of their auction despite the danger – that Nostrad had provided for her. Cream colored marble and vases of flowers: a far-cry from the tiny motel room she had been staying in the last few days. Well-dressed patrons wandered through the lobby, on business or pleasure, an attitude of genteel civility prevailing.

_All a lie._ She had to be careful, conceal that bitterness and cynicism from the Nostrads. Otherwise one of them might think to ask why she had agreed to join them.

"Pst!" someone hissed conspiratorially to her. "Psssst!"

Kurapika didn't bother glancing up.

"Yes?"

Neon Nostrad peeked around the large potted fern that she had been hiding behind for the last several minutes. However she managed to slip away from her entourage, her stealth skills still left a lot to be desired – Kurapika had noticed her after barely a minute.

"Has Eliza come by here?"

"No."

"Phew!" The other girl clasped her hands in overly-dramatic relief. Kurapika's distinct lack of interest, however, seemed to pique a perverse curiosity in her. She tripped over to the table. "Is it true that you were almost one of my bodyguards?"

"Yes." Kurapika traced another back corridor that led to the rooms labeled for storage on the map. "How did you know that?"

"I overheard Daddy and Daltzorne arguing about it before lunch," the girl admitted. She tilted her head to one side, "Why didn't you?"

_As if no one would pass up the chance to work with a spoiled mafia heiress._ Kurapika controlled a spike of unreasonable dislike that had nothing to do with the other's revolting hobbies.

"I had something I wanted to do alone," she said instead.

Missing the hint, the girl hopped up to sit on the table beside the map, skirts rustling and obscuring a better portion of the diagram of the upper floors.

"Oh?" She settled down with the air of someone prepared to unburden her soul. "Must be nice to do what you want, without anyone else getting in the way."

_Foolish child,_ Kurapika snorted internally. _This is anything but freedom._

"Are you really strong?" the girl asked innocently, twirling ridiculous bubblegum-pink hair around one dainty finger. "You aren't much older than me."

"Don't judge by appearances."

The girl laughed. "Now you sound like Daltzorne!" She paused, then added, oddly shy, "Are you a boy or a girl?"

Kurapika looked up, her full attention captured at last … and her complete annoyance, when she noticed the slightly sparkling look in Neon's eyes.

"Girl."

"Really? Aw – that's too bad." The girl bounced back from the disappointment with amazing resilience. "But you look so mature! And cool!" She leaned forward and confided, "I can do things too, you know!"

"Oh?" Kurapika asked, not really interested in bonding – they could have nothing in common.

"I can tell the future!"

Kurapika twitched, her chains rattling at the surprised motion.

"No one knows the future."

"I do!" Neon slid down from her perch and practically twirled in place. "Well, I don't really _know_ it ― but you will if I predict it for you!"

"Not interested."

But a tiny curl of curiosity twisted through her anyway.

"Here, here," Neon said, ignoring her and picking up a pen and notepad emblazoned with the hotel's address. "I just need your name and birthday and blood type!"

A sudden impulse moved Kurapika's hand, prompted her to scribble the information demanded in one corner. _I want to know._ Before she could regret it, the page was snatched from her hand by an overeager Neon.

"Oh, your birthday is in April, that's nice!"

The girl twirled the pen and a sudden surge of aura around her had Kurapika blinking in surprise again. _Damn._ She bit her lip in sudden, embarrassed annoyance. _I shouldn't have lectured her on judging by appearances – I completely discounted the possibility of a nen-skill. _An irregular surge of the other's nen was beginning to form around her hand as it jerked on the paper.

As she watched, Neon's eyes grew empty, unseeing and void of self. An unpleasant, familiar chill raked down Kurapika's spine – left her breathless with bad memories. The shadow of the dead Spider loomed over her shoulder, silent in hatred and condemnation.

But it ended in seconds; Neon's pen stuttered to a halt and she looked up with pleased, vibrant eyes.

"Neon?" one of the female attendants called from across the lobby. "Neon, where are you?"

"Oops!" The girl shoved the paper into Kurapika's hands. "This is our secret! Don't forget!"

"Wait, what ―"

But Neon had already bounced back into her hiding place with skipping, deceptively carefree steps.

* * *

><p>Machi and Nobunaga strolled through York Shin as casually as if their faces were not plastered all over the Mafia's black list. All they had to do was act relaxed and unguarded – like they thought they were safe walking in broad daylight down crowded streets. In reality, of course, they were fishing for hunters that might or might not have been responsible for Ubo's continued absence.<p>

She pretended to look in a shop window – _cheap shoes, probably'd break with one kick_ – so that Nobunaga could unobtrusively scan the area. Her temporary partner's senses were more acute than her own; she had probably been chosen for this mission because of her ability to track and entangle enemies with nen. The man shook his head at her. _Still no sign of interest._ They drifted on.

"You think Ubo's gone?" Nobunaga asked suddenly, continuing the conversation they'd cut short on leaving the base.

"Might be," she admitted, then reminded him of the whole point of their outing, just in case he had forgotten: "We're here to check that out."

_Moron._ Nobu was far too easily distracted. Given the chance, he would wander off to search for his friend instead of focusing on their mission. Irritation pricked at her, but she let him ramble. He and Ubo had always been a team. Obviously, he worried; just as obviously, he didn't really want to admit it. Intuition told her that Ubo was already dead. She wouldn't lie to reassure his partner.

"Ubo isn't just a stupid mass of muscles."

"You think I don't know that?"

_But sheer physical strength is good against only so many opponents. I think that Dancho is thinking this way, too. That's why he sent a short-range fighter and a long-range fighter with completely different abilities: to counter any unexpected traps. _Almost certainly, she had been given this assignment to keep Nobunaga from getting himself killed out of carelessness. Not a job the seamstress enjoyed … but nothing she couldn't handle.

They settled into an outdoor food court, pretending to be oblivious to the couple snapping their picture from the table behind them.

_Finally taking the bait. _Machi twisted the needles on her pin-cushion glove.

Whatever had happened to Ubo was not going to happen to her.

* * *

><p>"Kurapika?" Senritsu asked, tapping her on the arm.<p>

She looked away from the map and smiled faintly. In the other room of the Nostrad's suite, she could hear the don and his chief of security, quarreling with Neon as he tried to convince her to leave York Shin for her own safety.

"Yes, Senritsu?"

"Call me Senri." The music hunter studied her a moment, evidently undeceived by the smile. "I wanted to ask you, about what happened yesterday."

Kurapika said nothing; none of the other employees were in the room, but she could not bring herself to speak in the presence of the shadow that even now stood on the other side of the map.

"First I want to know why you've been helping me."

"I like to help people."

"You're too quick to trust," Kurapika snapped. "Helping me might end up hurting the boss that you're responsible for. We know nothing about each other."

A long moment of silence passed as they studied each other.

"The melody of an ordinary person can be distinguished from a nen-user by only one method: self-awareness," Senritsu finally said. "Nen springs from an individual unlocking true potential of the body's spiritual aura, and to use it requires a heightened state of awareness … But to control nen, and master it, you must understand the emotions and the thoughts that affect it."

"Yes," Kurapika, unwillingly interested in the tangent, nodded. "The more you develop your nen, the more it becomes a direct expression of your deepest, fundamental self. Some call it 'proof of life.' It can even linger after death."

_The reminder of life, after life has stopped. The shadow of the dead and the spilled blood of those murdered––_ She cut the thoughts short.

"When you use your ability, I hear in your heart …" Senritsu trailed off. "As for me," she switched topics abruptly, "I gained my abilities by accident, through a terrible experience I would never wish on anyone else. Do you want to hear the story? Ah – I thought so. Curiosity is easy to detect, even if it's involuntary." Her smile disappeared, expression becoming intense. "I had a vision of hell."

Wind from the open window gusted around them, still carrying the cold scent of the sea beneath the heavy, humid odors of the city streets.

"A certain friend of mine had been taught a section of _The Sonata of Darkness_. He promised not to play it, of course. It's said that Satan himself composed all four parts." Senritsu held Kurapika's eyes with unflinching conviction. "Flute, piano, viola, and harp. Humans that listen to it fall victim to great misfortune."

"Isn't that just a story?" Kurapika protested. "Even if you believe it—"

Senritsu pulled back a sleeve, and the younger girl fell silent. _Oh._ The arm beneath the cloth was blackened, as though in a fire, but hard and smooth as polished wood.

"I escaped with my life, but my right arm burned in the fire. My friend died – burned all over. Just from listening to one verse of one part of the Devil's music_. _We were drunk, you see, and forgot all our promises. I learned so much about myself that night, my weaknesses and limitations as a human being. Suffering unlocked this ability. I became a melody-hunter to track down the _Sonata_. And erase its curse from this world."

A truck roared in the background, the lonely reverberation of its horn echoing from some distant street.

"I asked about you out of curiosity. And I trust your motives because … sometimes your melody reminds me of my own. A little." Her eyes betrayed nothing but a quiet compassion. "Someone else carries scars from too deep an understanding."

_Lies are meaningless here, _Kurapika decided after a moment. She turned to face the inevitable.

"My clan was destroyed by the Genei Ryodan. I am … hunting them. Until I recover what they stole from me."

_**You'll never succeed, Kurata,**_ the ghost of her first victim snarled at her with sudden, unexpected anger. Under her shocked eyes, his shadowed features seemed to solidify – a blurred picture coming into focus. He leaned forward, one fist pounding against the table as though to break through it into life again. _**I'll send you back to hell first!**_

Shock ran nails of fire through Kurapika's mind.

The melody hunter frowned a little. "Are you alright?"

_Cursed._ Kurapika had been that all her life.

Senritsu, picking up something amiss, reached out to touch her arm … then seemed to think better of it. No matter how keen her hearing, she did not seem to have noticed the Spider's outburst. Kurapika closed her eyes.

"Yes."

The ghost was watching her, hunting for a reaction to his declaration. Kurapika's hand twitched, a faint tremor running through the chains around it. _Now is not the time or place to have a conversation with a dead man. _She tried to collect her wits quickly.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Senritsu huffed.

"Really," Kurapika assured her. "There's nothing wrong." Her smile became tentative, but much more genuine. In the face of the Spider's unexpected curse, her fellow Hunter's concern proved itself an invaluable support. "Thank you for asking."

Senri examined her face, then nodded as though satisfied – or at least content – with whatever she heard in the Kurata's heart-melody. She patted Kurapika's hand where it rested on the map.

"You know," she said, "Understanding the good things about ourselves is as important as understanding the bad. Your melody has many admirable qualities. Try listening for them sometime."

"Thank you." This time, the smile lit up Kurapika's whole face.

The music hunter paused, as if considering saying something more.

Fortunately, Bashou chose that moment to burst in and retrieve Senri for escort duty; Neon's airship would be departing soon. Senri looked over her shoulder once, and waved.

"Bye, Kurapika!" Bashou shouted through the closing door.

"Goodbye."

She watched them leave from the vantage of the window, then gathered up the map; as soon as he said goodbye to his daughter, she would accompany Nostrad Senior to his own meeting. Whatever it took, she could not afford to miss this chance to obtain access to the Cemetery Building's auction. A faint greyness tinged her vision, a wash of unwelcome weariness that left her feeling drained.

_I suppose that Senritsu – Senri – might be right about me needing a little help. Indirectly._

"Kurapika! Kurapika!" Gon's voice piped through the phone's speaker a minute later. "How are you? Where are you? What are you doing? _Why?_ When will you―"

"Give it here! We're close to the cafe," Killua snapped from somewhere in the background. "Hello, Kurapika. You're still not answering our calls, so I guess you're busy. When you get this, call us back. We want to ask if you know―"

"Something really, really important!" Gon broke in.

"Get off me!"

"But I want to―"

"Whatever! Look, Kurapika, just call, will you? _Gon_, be careful you idiot! You'll―"

The message broke off in the middle of his sentence.

Kurapika chuckled; she had allowed herself the luxury of checking her personal messages because Gon and Killua were a sane point for her; a lightening force that she found both calming and energizing. From the sound of it, the boys were enjoying the public auction with all their typical, boisterous energy. She, on the other hand––

Her eyes slid to the hulking shadow that followed her on a trailing chain.

_**I'll destroy you, **_he grated the words out as though they were his last. _**I'll bring you down, Kurata.**_

But he could not touch her. And the desperate, hopeless hatred in his voice was only a mirror of her own. And wasn't that exactly the punishment, the suffering she had wished on him? _This is the price,_ she told herself grimly. _The price of reaching for everything. For both vengeance and atonement._ No matter how she was cursed, she wouldn't let go.

The prediction that Neon Nostrad had written rustled in her pocket.


	6. Trajectory

****_Thank you everyone who reviewed! It's very encouraging that people are enjoying the story! __I've had some trouble with this chapter, however. To the point where I was editing it even three minutes ago. If anyone spots any errors or inconsistencies that I missed, please let me know. _

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><p><strong>Chapter Five:<strong> Trajectory

"Do you see them?" Phinks asked over the phone.

"Yeah." Pakunoda peered around the corner.

"Two of them … Think Machi and Nobunaga have noticed?"

"Probably. They're headed for a place with less people."

Below, the pair of small figures they tracked were in turn tracking the first team of Spiders. Pakunoda restrained a smile. To an omniscient observer, they probably looked like a bizarre progression of mismatched animals going into Noah's ark: two by two by two. But ––

"They look like children."

"Maybe they're midgets," Phinks suggested helpfully.

"Maybe."

As a citizen of Shooting Star, and an experienced nen-user, Pakunoda had seen stranger things.

"Bet you six million zenni they're midgets."

"Done," she accepted the wager instantly.

From her position, she couldn't see Phinks's hiding place, but that just proved that he was better at concealing his presence than she would have given him credit for.

"You go on ahead," she ordered. "I'll hang back in case they get spooked when the crowds begin to thin."

Ten minutes later, she collected on the bet and spent a car-ride questioning two ridiculously young boys about what possessed them to go stalking the Ryodan through York Shin in broad daylight.

* * *

><p>Sunset burned in the panes of the wide windows in the conference room where Nostrad told her they would meet with the auction's chief of security. Kurapika entered with quiet assurance, walking ahead of her employer to keep him covered from unexpected attacks. If the Ryodan had caught wind of what the mob planned for tonight's auction, then they very well might strike the first conferences before things could be organized, territory could be secured, and concrete plans made.<p>

It was what she would have done.

However, nothing appeared to be amiss when they entered. A group of men, radiating quiet and deadly competence, were gathered on chairs and couches around the room's low coffee table. Kurapika stood unobtrusively in the background, a good distance from both the door and the windows – where she could see them all.

In her eyes, the mafia chief of security was the only thing that seemed out of place: a small, bald man with a goatee and mustaches and tiny sunglasses that reminded her for a surreal moment of the ones that Leorio liked the wear. Fortunately, that illusion disappeared under the venomous glare that he directed at her.

"So, you decided to stick your neck out, after all," the little man sneered, blocking Nostrad's path through the door. "Didn't your fortune-telling daughter warn you to play it safe?"

"The only ones who can match my protégée's qualifications are the Zaoldyeks," Nostrad pointed out quietly. "Don't hang yourself here, Zenji. It's not worth it."

The Kurata closed her mouth on half-annoyed, prideful amusement. _I don't recall agreeing to be anyone's protégée—_

Kurapika felt a sudden prickle of awareness. Only two of the assassins were paying any attention to the scene, but they were by far the most powerful … and, to her eyes, both bore a faint resemblance to each other and Killua. Unexpectedly, the older one grinned at her with a familiar, mischievous twist of expression that reminded her even more forcibly of her friend.

_Not,_ she thought with a flicker of dry amusement, _that he would appreciate the comparison._

She looked the Zaoldyeks over with a brief flicker of renewed interest, then measured their level against the others. _Those two in front might attain similar skill given enough time. _But the professionals here meant nothing to her except in how they affected the movement of her enemies.

_Find the Spiders, and find the Eyes._ It was all she cared about.

Nostrad and his rival seemed to have settled their differences, and she followed her employer – sponsor_?_ – into the room. _Internal politics_, she labeled the hang-up as she joined the group of assassins; there was no chair for her in the loose formation around the coffee table, but she did not mind.

Discussion murmured, forming a background to her thoughts, as she calculated the respective strengths of the assassins versus the strength of the Ryodan member she had killed._ (I killed him. He's dead.)_ The others on the assassin team engaged in a similar exercise, but their knowledge of the enemy was confined to theoreticals. In her opinion, none of them stood a chance besides the Zaoldyeks. For a brief moment, she let her mind flash to what Killua would have had to say about the motley assortment of lesser assassins.

When asked her opinion on whether or not the whole group should try to coordinate, she answered fearlessly.

"A clumsy collaboration will only tangle us up. I also prefer to act alone." Then she added, partially just because it seemed like the sensible compromise: "Those who need support can get it from the community."

_**Not that it'll do you any damn good,**_the dead man beside her echoed her true opinion in a harsh, labored voice.

There seemed to be nothing more to say after that.

Meeting over, she followed Nostrad Senior to the door – only to be intercepted by the older Zaoldyek. _Zeno,_ she reminded herself.

"I recognize you," he said, radiating all the charming dignity of a venerable and aged gentleman. "One of Killua's friends."

"Yes." She offered, since he did not comment further, "Your grandson is also in town."

"Of course he is," the old man winked. "There's trouble in York Shin, and plenty of sweet-shops." He crossed his hands behind his back and paced a half circle around her. "He wouldn't happen to be working with you now, would he?"

"No." She stepped neatly to one side so that she could see both him and his larger son, who had come up quietly behind her. "I don't believe he's made contact with the Ryodan, either."

"You're quite sharp," Zeno twinkled, approving either of her recognition of his real question or her awareness of the bigger man's stealthy approach. "Killua has good instincts, as usual."

Kurapika nodded respectfully, and turned to depart.

"You'll need more than potential, though," the Zaoldyek said from behind her, "to play on this field." He smiled and folded his hands behind his back at her freezing look. "Just advice for my favorite grandson's friend."

"I have no intention of setting up in competition to your business."

_The Spiders are the only people I want to kill._

The old man laughed, though his son merely grunted and crossed his arms.

"You youngsters are so cheeky," remarked Zeno, still chuckling. "As if you could." He nodded as he passed by. "Give Killua your best shot for me, next time you see him."

She watched them leave, plagued by a vague feeling that she had missed something.

_He just … asked me to punch his grandson._ The Zaoldyek practices of family affection seemed to leave a lot to be desired. The faint residue of amusement that the old man left behind evaporated. Kurapika left the room, steps rough and abrupt. _Not my place to comment._

It took her seconds to find Nostrad. The man in charge of organizing the mafia's security, the same who had shown such hostility at their entrance, was arguing with him in the corridor. The lingering odor of cigars and wine seemed to exhale from his person. _What an obvious person. I could sense him coming from miles away._ She buried the scorn securely in the depths of her mind.

"Yeah," he was smirking in response to something Nostrad had said, "you buy her presents with the money that she earned for you."

Their audience snickered.

"I care nothing for the jealousy of others," Nostrad commented to the air.

At that, the short man punched him in the face, with the sort of right hook that suggested he had at some point done a little of his own fighting. Kurapika hesitated a split second; she did not have the right to interfere in a quarrel between bosses. She didn't even want to, in fact.

When Zenji drew his fist back for yet another blow, however, she laid a gentle knife at his throat.

He twisted his head to glare and she kept her pressure light, to avoid piercing skin. His cheeks quivered with outrage.

"You want to slit my throat? Try it!" he blustered.

"Kurapika." Nostrad's voice was thickened with blood from his broken nose. "Stop."

She pulled back the blade, but did not move from her position.

"He's not worth it, Zenji," one of the fat man's aides put in, taking hold of his arm. "It won't get you anywhere."

The temperamental mob-boss made a guttural sound of suppressed rage, but he backed off. His glare slid off Nostrad's stiff face and the blank, watchful armor of her own composure. _A small man, with small thoughts and desires. I doubt he could be of use to anyone. _Kurapika's knife disappeared back up her sleeve.

"Everyone is looking down on you here!" Zenji flung childishly back at them as he stumped down the hall.

_**Are these the sort of people you want to protect?**_ The Spider's shadow snorted. _**Just kill them.**_

Kurapika scowled and crushed the desire to respond. _I have good reasons to be here. No matter what the price, I must continue on this course. _Even at the cost of honor and conscience. Both Nostrad and his agenda had become her tools – her way into the auction where she could find the Spider and the Red Eyes. She would protect them, even from her own condemnation.

"You're bleeding," she offered Nostrad a cloth to stem the blood from his nose.

"It's fine." He wiped the stains from his mouth with one hand, then looked after his rival with a weary, but contemptuous expression. "My success has shown a lot of other people up, so there's a natural amount of envy and jealousy. But don't let Zenji harass you – people like him don't understand anything."

Kurapika did not think that disqualified him as a threat, but she also knew better than to say so.

"The most important thing in this age is information," remarked Nostrad in a conversational, rather fatherly manner as she escorted him to his car. "The most valuable set of information is 'what happens next.' Predictions of the future. Everyone wants to know. Because the man with reliable information about the future could govern the world."

Kurapika had no right to complain that this man was exactly the kind of middling competent, mediocre human being with too much ambition that she had initially gone in search of; he was what she needed him to be. She checked the driver's face and aura unobtrusively as they approached – but it seemed that Zenji wasn't in the practice of hiring assassins on his own behalf … yet.

"I intend to keep climbing higher, no matter how many enemies success earns me." Her oblivious charge smiled at the faint reflection of his battered face in the window of the car. "I'll be counting on your services, Kurapika."

The Kurata had nothing to say to that either. Inscrutable, she watched his car pull out of the garage, its polished black surface gleaming as it passed her. Then she turned back to the Cemetery Building.

* * *

><p>Killua knew that he had done some stupid things in his life. Quite a lot of them, actually, since he and Gon became friends. But getting caught Genei Ryodan must be high on the list of suicidal stunts his father would beat him for. Happily, he'd probably be dead by the time his family learned of it – and then they could write him off as incompetent. An ignominious ending for a Zaoldyek, especially after he had been given the freedom to do as he pleased.<p>

And what had he done with that freedom? He'd let Gon talk him into chasing after the Genei Ryodan. As an assassin, or former assassin currently on indefinite holiday, he'd had too much confidence in his ability to move about unseen. It simply hadn't occurred to him that the two Spiders they followed might have been bait to catch hunters. It simply hadn't been possible to escape four of them when the trap closed.

Now, he and Gon sat in a car … being driven to an unknown location by experienced and lethal killers. His ankles ached from where he had injured them in an attempt to get away; the hot-cold sting of abrasions would slow him. _Not that there'll be any opening with this group._ To highlight how little of a threat he and Gon posed, the Spiders had even sandwiched them in back between the two women.

Once the questions finished, he suspected that their lifeless bodies would simply be dumped by the side of the road as the Ryodan drove on to its true destination.

"And you?" the older woman sitting between him and the door asked. Her tone was amused, even friendly, but Killua knew that the arm slung casually around his shoulder could just as easily lock around his neck and strangle him. "Do you know anything about anyone who fights like that?"

"Think carefully, kid," the swordsman up front twisted back and glowered at him. "A chain-user, someone who has a grudge against us."

"No, I don't know any chain-user." He was annoyed and his pride was smarting from getting caught, and as usual it tricked him into saying things he shouldn't. "But there are a lot of people who hate you, right? Or you wouldn't have such big rewards on your heads."

The woman – Pakunoda – looked a bit surprised by his attitude. Beside him, Gon radiated frustration, and a deeper sort of anger – the kind that would get them into way more trouble than any snappy remark Killua let slip out. On his far side, the blue-haired girl shot him a cold glare.

The two men up front just laughed.

"_Stay away from the Ryodan_," Killua's father had told him, a lifetime ago.

It was the only warning of that kind he had ever heard from the family head; ordinarily, his father encouraged his children to take on strong enemies. So long as they were getting paid, of course. But the fact that he had told them not to touch the Spiders meant that he considered such an act equal to instant death.

Killua desperately needed to prove him wrong … and not just for the sake of pissing the old man off this time.

* * *

><p>Picking Neon Nostrad off the streets of York Shin turned out to be laughably easy for Kuroro.<p>

The ability to foresee the future, even hazily, was a rare and sophisticated skill. He'd been quite curious to meet the person who developed the concept into reality; he'd even been prepared for the possibility that she'd predicted his arrival. From the moment he saw young miss Nostrad in the airport, however, he'd made some rapid mental revisions to his plan and profile. Despite her appearance in the picture on the site, he'd expected someone with a bit more gravitas.

Someone who acted with much more forethought.

"Thank you so much," she chirped happily from the seat beside him.

He hadn't even done more than pretend to recognize her and she'd hopped into the car with him.

"Your father has always been kind to me." Kuroro returned the smile. "If I can be of any help to his family, of course it would be my pleasure."

"Actually…" Her fingers fidgeted with each other. "Papa doesn't know I'm going to the auction."

Kuroro donned a look of surprise; part of it was even real … he hadn't expected her to be honest about the fact that she'd just ditched her bodyguards at the airport. So he resorted to echoing her own words back, in hopes of elaboration.

"Doesn't—?"

"No!" She clapped her hands together, leaning forward angrily. "He and Daltzorne are so mean. They don't want me to go anywhere new or do anything fun or talk to anyone _interesting_!"

"That must be hard," Kuroro nodded in sympathy.

"You – you won't tell him I'm here, will you?"

The Spider pretended to hesitate.

"I won't be any trouble!" Her bright blue eyes filled with a beseeching candor. "It's just _one_ auction night! Please!"

"Well," he gave in with mock-reluctance, "I don't suppose there _is_ any trouble. Just this once." Having reassessed her measure, he determined his own character and let a humorous grin reappear for her benefit. "You have to defend me to your father, though!"

"Leave it to me!" Neon Nostrad promised, with sparkling determination.

_She still thinks life is one big adventure._ Kuroro reflected that good-natured, upbeat attitude right back at her – combined with a touch of self-assured charm.

Knocking on the window that separated them from the driver, he winked conspiratorially at the girl. Neon giggled. _She must have predicted her own well-being_, he thought ironically. _Or she thinks knowing part of the future makes her invincible. So much the better for me. _Of course, he wasn't planning to do anything so wasteful and unnecessary as kill her.

_Sometimes it pays to do things the legal way_, he thought as the traffic guard handed his ticket back through the car window. _It would be awkward to be hung up by a forged document now, even one made by Coltopi._ Not that he couldn't have dealt with it – but he much preferred to focus on the priorities here.

Kuroro smiled pleasantly as he and the young mafia heiress drove through the check-points without incident.

"Thank you, sir," Neon giggled again when he helped her out of the car with a flourish.

The driver, a hobo he had picked up in a local park and bribed with money and a new suit, wandered away to park the car and buy himself a meal. But the man was no longer necessary, and in no conceivable way a threat, so Kuroro let him do as he pleased. For himself, he was devoted to pleasing his companion.

"We still have some time before the auction starts," he said, smiling. "Do you want to get something to drink?"

She accepted with all the sunny humor of a child who knew that she had her way in everything. _Hopelessly naïve._ Since he had been going over the layout of this particular building ever since it was reserved for the underground auction, he had no trouble in guiding them to its indoor restaurant.

"I've been told that you're good at making predictions," he told her when they had settled at a table with their drinks. He donned a rueful look. "Er, though I don't remember who told me."

"It's true," the girl replied with a careless, unconscious pride. "Even some high ranked people have asked for me."

He channeled his inner-Shalnark, all impressed attention, and convinced her to show him the ability. The conditions for activation seemed to be the bare minimum of personal data: full name, date of birth, and blood-type. _As for the conditions of my own ability … _Kuroro smiled as he wrote down the information that Neon had requested. _Really, she's making this too easy for me._ At the very least, though, this experience might teach her not to be so blindly trusting.

"Kuroro Lucifer, twenty-six years old," she read off the sheet he handed her. "You're a lot older than me," the fortune-teller commented, sounding vaguely surprised and a little disappointed.

_Perhaps I overdid the charming part, _Kuroro thought with a faint twitch of his lips.

"And your name isn't very common," she added.

"My friends call me Dancho," he offered in the spirit of mischief. Of course, the title would mean nothing to her.

Sure enough, she laughed. "How weird!" The Nostrad girl spun a pen between her fingers with the air of a professional about to work. "Okay, I'm starting."

Nen gathered around her arm as her expression unfocused. Kuroro kept a smile on his face, but his gaze sharpened; he was also a professional. His target this time would not notice the slight change of attitude. Her face drained of all color even as he watched. The aura around her arm took the shape of a blind creature with an open mouth and closed eyes. Snapping back and forth, it guided her hand across the paper in rapid, jerking motions.

Then, as quickly as it began it ended. The pen stopped and the nen disappeared. Neon Nostrad's awareness seemed to return.

_Definitely not an ability for the middle of combat._

"Here," she passed him the paper. "My predictions are always a little strange. There's three to four paragraphs of about five lines. They show the weeks of this month to come – though the first one might correspond to things that have already taken place."

He noted her words absently, taking the prediction from the table.

"**Part of the precious paper will be lost:  
>the remaining moons will deplore this loss.<br>The orchestra in his bereavement outfit will play his melody  
>when November will be taken away in peace to the heights. <strong>

**Pages of all the years past will be torn from the calendar  
>when the moth catching fire in its wings burns the spider's web.<br>If you would not be cast down as the stars thrown away by heaven,  
>seek the thrice-cursed secrets entombed<br>in the ground of red eyes stained with blood." **

Kuroro realized that he was crying.

* * *

><p>Row after row of empty seats lined the amphitheater of the Cemetery Building's tenth floor. Kurapika walked through the aisles, royal blue carpet crushing under her feet. Paintings on the walls, soft rugs, and perfume: everywhere she saw the rich colors that concealed an overripe, rotten core. Her eyes darted across the furnishings restlessly – noting hidden cameras and guards without conscious recognition – searching for the dark places and the cobwebs, for body-parts and bloodstains.<p>

_But of course there aren't any on the surface._

She would have to make her way into the back rooms to find the truth … or look over her shoulder.

_Is it possible for a dead man's nen curse to drive its target insane?_ Usually, the phenomenon would result in the death of its victim. _However, there are exceptions. And my specific abilities might prevent physical damage, so the curse is seeking another outlet and targeting my mental stability _–– It made no difference, anyway.

_Let it be anything but his ghost, his actual soul tied to mine._

A little corner of her mind knew that she was in denial, but she smothered such uneasiness.

Beyond the stage at the far end of the hall, the storage area sprawled out in a maze of wooden boxes and stacked chairs and ropes hanging from the catwalks. Kurapika ducked through the labyrinth. Ordinary guards and some of the building's own employees wandered around.

"Hey!" One of the men in uniform called as she passed him. "Authorized personnel only!"

"I'm one of the specialists hired for tonight," she told him truthfully. "If it won't interfere, I intend to do a preliminary sweep of the area."

_I don't care if it does interfere._

Fortunately for him, he nodded. She left, ignoring several curious glances. _Because I have to know – before anything else happens, I have to know that this is worth it. _The mafia's organization of their auction items was far superior to their organization of security. She didn't need the dowsing chain to lead her to the box she wanted. _The auction's Scarlet Eyes_.

Inches of wood and glass between her and what she sought.

Her hand hovered over it. Foreign impulses tugged at her, tempting her to steal the Eyes outright and _burn_ her way out of the building. Only the stubborn certainty that down that road lay death and – much more importantly – failure, held her back.

_Not yet._

Already, the thought of being so near the Eyes – but unable to rescue them – caused her to tremble. _I cannot yet risk exposing myself to the mafia, the Ryodan._ But delay was betrayal. Every breath she wasted made a mockery of the suffering her comrades endured. Biting deeper into her bleeding lip, the Kurata felt like vomiting – the painful drag of rage and hatred boiling up from the endless well of regret.

Washes of grey and red slid across her vision like mist.

Rather than remain here, trapped by her own plans, it would be so much easier to go: hunt the Ryodan and exorcise her demons by crushing them. She'd return afterwards, with an unburdened soul and a clear mind. Surely, facing this must be easier after a rampage of preprogrammed murder. Hadn't she _dreamed_ of the Spider's blood, their lives spilling out through her hands? She would let go, become numb in the satisfying rush of killing and death; let her pitiless, remorseless conscience fade into that nothingness—

"_Nothing in particular."_

The chain binding her heart twisted tighter.

_I must not._

Kurapika stood absolutely motionless, disguised eyes wide open and staring as she fought for the control to turn around and walk away.

For a second she even forgot about the ghostly figure at her shoulder.

_**I know you can hear me, Kurata. I want to talk.**_

Her eyes flickered involuntarily to one side, surprised. "You're just a curse."

"Guess again," the phantom Spider snarled in her face, a fist slamming into the air before her nose.

She took a step backwards.

* * *

><p>Zenji prided himself on his ability to seize opportunity. So, when he saw Nostrad's pitiful contribution to security loitering around in the back of the auction hall, he recognized a prime target for his frustrations. The boy, whoever he was, might have a stone face – but that just meant he could enjoy watching it crumble in impotent rage when he was made to acknowledge Zenji's authority.<p>

But before he could call out, the blond vanished – a blur of motion breaking away to disappear down the hallway to his left. Had he run away from Zenji? Impossible! Not even a Nostrad employee would have so little spine.

But maybe he really did have some sort of skill after all, and he had detected the presence of one of the thieves.

Zenji didn't necessarily hold a personal grudge about the last auction – but even the Genei Ryodan should have some trouble with the extra security and professional killers that the godfathers had hired to stop them. And if not, then Zenji was certain that at least _one _of them had at least a little bit of a soft spot for him. Even if she _had_ left him in his car last night, stinking of wine and completely unable to remember what had happened during their date.

Clearly, Pakunoda had preferred his company to robbing the auction last time – dared he hope that she would repeat herself?

No matter what happened, Zenji was positive that he would survive the night's events. He had made his way up the mafia's foodchain by being tough, and by knowing the right people. His allegiance would attach itself to the winner. Unlike information-mongers like Nostrad, he knew exactly how to wield other people's influence.

Curious as to what his rival's family might be up to at the auction, he went to the crate that the boy had been brooding over. He had the right keys to unlatch it, and anyone who dared question the chief of security would be blistered out of earshot. Zenji pried up the lid of the box. With a further grunt of annoyance, he hauled a glass container out of its protective layers of packaging.

In his hands, the Scarlet Eyes glowed like priceless rubies.

* * *

><p>Kuroro had suspected it, but the confirmation of Ubo's death still twisted like a knife in him. The giant had been part of the Ryodan from the beginning. A valued comrade had died without them even being awake to his danger. And – if he understood the riddle of the prediction right – unless they did something, the entire Ryodan would follow him into death.<p>

_All the years past will be torn from the calendar._

But Neon Nostrad was staring him as though she had never seen tears before, and he had to put next week's questions aside. He wiped his eyes and returned to the part he would play. _Because this was what I had already decided for tonight._ The meaning of his smile was lost on his companion.

"Your predictions are truly impressive. Concerning the first paragraph––"

"No, no!" she protested, scooting back in her seat. "I never read my own predictions! I can keep the impression that everything's okay, so long as I don't get involved."

"I understand," he told her.

_You've crippled yourself, to avoid your own sense of responsibility. An illusion of detachment from the misfortune you predict._ A disappointing flaw. Then again, he decided, the people whose futures she wrote would probably be pretty harsh on her if she interfered. _But that means that there's no actual restriction on whether or not I can read the predictions myself._ He would be keeping her ability, then.

Folding the paper and slipping it into a pocket, Kuroro rose to his feet.

"May I ask you one thing?" he inquired as she followed him out of the cafe.

"Sure."

Consulting his mental map of the building, he turned their stroll in the direction of the lobby; he wanted to guide her to a more public place, so that several people could witness her collapse.

"These passages refers to the shadow of one dead." She made a sympathetic noise and he smiled in appreciation, but continued to speak, "Do you believe in the existence of a world after death?"

She hummed for a moment, feet skipping across the stairs down, before answering, "Not really. I think that my predictions are supposed to help _living_ people achieve happiness. Nothing can be done for dead people." Her attitude was surprising, for a body-collector. "If I were you, Kuroro, I would look inside myself for an answer – instead of relying on someone who's already gone. Or looking for someplace that doesn't exist."

"That's probably true."

They reached the ground floor, coming out from the stairwell sheltered by indoor plants and expensive sculptures.

Neon added with an air of naïve candor, turning her head to admire one of the flowering shrubs, "Actually, a lady on TV said that when I was a kid. She was a clairvoyant … I always wanted to be just like her. And she didn't believe in other worlds, which is why I don't either."

_In that case, you have no convictions of your own – just borrowed inspiration. I can put the future to much better use._

They walked between the security guards in the main hall. Neon tripped along beside him, still completely at ease with a man she had met less than an hour before. About whom she knew nothing, because she never read her own predictions.

"I … believe in the existence of souls," Kuroro told her. "That's why, for the one who left us, I would like to do everything as he would have liked to do it."

"What does that mean?"

She started to look up.

His blow took her cleanly in the side of the neck, nothing more than a flick of rapid movement. _It's beginning._ He was still smiling as she began to fall.

* * *

><p>The chain-user paled when Ubo confronted her, but regained her footing with a disappointing quickness. So she really wouldn't scream or cry or faint. <em>Damned cold brat.<em> The Spider was becoming more and more used to dissatisfaction. She had, at least, felt compelled to change locations – presumably so that no one would hear her talking to herself and realize that she was balls-out insane.

Talking seemed easier for him, though, now that someone was listening. Maybe she just hadn't been willing to hear before … He decided not to care about the mechanics of it.

"You can't run away from me this time, chain-user," he grinned around the pain of forcing the words out.

Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn't slow down to respond. Ubo realized that – uncomfortable as it might be – he was going to have to do more talking. The chain-user wouldn't distract herself.

"So, are you going to steal them?"

_That _got her full attention. She slid to a halt and whirled around, an angry retort on her lips. Which died when she got a good look at Ubo's triumphant, taunting grin. Something changed in her expression and she jerked back around. This time, though, her pace slowed to a rigidly controlled walk.

"You can pretend not to hear or see me," he remarked, keeping pace with her down another empty corridor. "But it won't do you much good. Anyway, you should have snatched the Red Eyes when you had the chance. The Spider—"

"Keep your filth away from them," the Kurata hissed abruptly, shooting him a burning, sideways glare. "Don't _touch_ them."

Ubo nodded fiercely to himself. So far, his idea was working better than he'd dared hope. All he had to do was keep the grey fog at bay long enough to thoroughly fuck up the Kurata's plans. So far, she'd been remarkably restrained … but he knew a killer's instincts. He'd fought her himself. Violence was simmering, just below that frozen surface. He just had to give her a nice, hard shove over the edge.

In an unexpected stroke of luck, the more he talked, the less it hurt. _Speaking of unexpected—_

"You don't seem surprised that I'm here."

"I've seen ghosts before."

Ubo grunted, a painful mutter. "Why did you call me a curse?"

"Because you _are_!"

For a second, he thought she looked angry enough to cry after all. Then she broke away again and continued running down the hall.

An uneasy feeling stalked him, shapeless as the mist reaching down the hall for him. The Spider shrugged it off. _Keep talking. Act stupid._ It was a tactic Shalnark always recommended to him as an information gathering technique, though he rarely found it necessary. Ubo liked intimidation better. It worked well, and much faster on most people.

"So I'm a ghost _and_ a curse. Fun."

"A ghost is another person's soul that lingers instead of moving on," the chain-user snapped, over her shoulder – unable to resist correcting him just like she'd been unable to resist yammering during their duel. "A nen curse is the remnants of the dead person's aura: an impression or a … memory imprinted on the physical world. But _not_ a self-aware force. The conscious soul only remains if something stops the death-curse from taking effect, and the dead man still refuses to let go."

_So I really am stuck here, _Ubo thought grimly, following her around another corner. Until she died … or he gave up. That last one was never happening. _So much for this being my own very special hell,_ he grumbled to himself. And then, _how does she know anything about the unlife of the dead or whatever?_ Another, even more horrible thought occurred to him.

"Did you do this on purpose?" he bellowed, fists clenching as he forgot that he could no longer bruise her pretty face. He winced immediately – shouting still hurt a lot more than carrying on at a normal volume.

The chain-user slid to a halt at the bottom of the stairs to the roof.

"Why the hell would I want to be linked to someone like you?" she hissed as her own temper boiled over again. "Just let go of your regret or whatever and leave the Kurata alone!"

Beneath her black contacts, he saw the disquieting glimmer that meant her eyes had gone red.

"I want to talk," he insisted stubbornly, remembering his purpose.

She stepped forward, testing the resistance of the invisible barrier between them. He grunted a little as it pushed him away from her. If he had to, he would start howling in her ear every time someone else tried to speak with her. At the very least it would give her a headache the size of his own.

_What have I been reduced to?_ he wondered grumpily. _At least no one will ever know._

"During our last conversation, you chose death over telling me anything," she pointed out, heading up the stairs. "You won't have changed your mind now that I can no longer kill you. So your only objective can be interference with my activities."

_Right the first time, kid. But after a day of trying to break your concentration, I think I know some of your weak points. And you still don't know mine._

"I want to know what's happened to me," he replied, over the slam of the door being shoved open.

A sudden blast of cold air from outside whipped the girl's hair wildly; his, however, remained still – he could barely feel the wind. Mist lurked around them on all sides, and only stubborn anger kept him from slipping away into it. But there was no way he would give up his best chance to stop the chain-user for that comforting void. He grabbed the chain in one hand; physical – or whatever – contact with it seemed to strengthen the connection.

Ubo stalked after the Kurata to the center of the roof, a spot partially sheltered by the two larger towers on either side of the Cemetery Building.

"And I think that you have a pretty good idea what's going on."

She did not reply to the accusation, but her fists clenched a little harder. All around, the city spread out in muffled fog: a hazy net of lights and sound. Ubo circled around to look his enemy full in the face.

"If you really want me to leave–" he added, with what he thought was a pretty intelligent argument, "–and you think that it's my regrets that are keeping me tied here, then you should help me figure out how to go."

_Hah. Worry your self-righteous little head over that for a while._

"Take responsibility, right?" she whispered, her head bent and expression concealed behind her long bangs.

_Not really, but whatever pushes your buttons,_ he replied mentally. But now was not the time to push too hard. In his experience, prisoners usually started muttering to themselves right before they cracked and spilled their guts. _Come on and tell me. Take forever figuring a way out of this. Just stay up here and away from the center of the action!_

"I believe it must be an … accident," she said finally, her voice the softest he had ever heard it, almost inaudible over the wind. "A consequence of the circumstances of your death. And the nature of my nen." Her right hand raised slightly, its chains gleaming wickedly at him. "But I cannot help you find peace in the afterlife."

Ubo held back a snort. _I wasn't exactly asking for that, kid._ Anyway, he would rather die again than be killed by her a second time. _Wait … does that even make sense? _He was trying to figure it out when she slipped around him and headed for the edge of the roof.

"Wait!" He shot a useless hand towards her shoulder, not sure what she was about to do but certain he had to stop her. Furious, he punched the stubborn air with equally stubborn, but much less effective, blows.

"If you're trying to distract me from what's happening now, don't bother," she tossed over one shoulder, pushing blond hair aside to shoot him scornful glance. "I already know that the Ryodan must be in the building. And I know what comes next."

The chain pulled him along behind her to the edge of the roof.

Side by side, they watched as his comrades turned the city below into hell. A bit of the bitterness that choked him eased. He understood the message. His comrades wanted to send him off in style. Ubo took that savage appreciation into the fog with him, as ironclad as the chain impaled through his chest.

* * *

><p>Kuroro stood at the open window, listening to the sounds of gunfire. His smile now was much more peaceful than the one he had shown to the fortune-telling girl. In the darkened room behind him, the bodies of two of the mafia's hired killers lay in spreading pools of their own blood. Neither had been the chain-user, apparently. But revenge mattered less right now than the requiem playing in the explosions and death sweeping the city below.<p>

_Can you hear us, Ubo? This is the farewell we offer you._

He raised whimsical hands to direct the orchestra under the cold light of the moon.


	7. Assassin's Auction

_This chapter was going to be longer ... but then I realized that the timeline was wrong, so it's shorter again by a scene. Hopefully it's still exciting enough._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: <strong>Assassin's Auction

Shalnark was enjoying himself. The boss had given them all permission to do whatever they wanted on their way to the auction house, so the entire Ryodan (minus Nobunaga, who had passed this up to babysit a couple of kids) was wreaking havoc in honor of their fallen comrade. Bets were going double or nothing on whether Feitan or the boss got to the chain-user first.

If, of course, their elusive target proved to be here.

Much as Shalnark wanted revenge for Ubo's death (he had been the one who failed, letting the giant take off on his own without at least getting more information about who the big man wanted to fight), he did not particularly care whether or not he struck the finishing blow. Right now, the group's opinion divided on the subject of the chain-user: kill him, or induct him in as Ubo's replacement.

Personally, Shalnark wanted him dead. Probably. Ubo had been a friend. But the traditions of the Spider also deserved consideration. The boss would have the final say on the subject, though thus far he had only decreed that they find and retrieve the enemy: dead – or alive.

Thinking about that led him to miscalculate how much his current target could handle. The man took a bullet to the head. Well, his other fate was an aneurysm when the pressure from Shalnark's cellphone signal overloaded his neural pathways anyway. The gun he had been using to shoot his own teammates clattered to the ground beside his twitching body.

_Damn, he broke down._ Shalnark hopped out of the tree he had perched in. _I'll have to find another toy._

He hummed an off-key melody as he tapped at his phone. _Who to take over next?_ He was bored with the security guards already; they mostly had the same weapons and kill ratio and life-span, and he wanted something different. An ambulance had come through earlier, but they were all under orders to leave it strictly alone. _Pity – all that medical equipment would be interesting to play with._ He jumped up onto the wall of an outlying garden, searching for new prey.

The phone began to ring before he found anyone.

_Paku's number._

"Hi," he said brightly as he answered, plugging one ear against the noise of Franklin unleashing another barrage of nen-bullets somewhere nearby. "What's up?"

"It's Pakunoda," the woman told him unnecessarily. "Where do you want to meet up for step two?"

"Eh – let's just hit the front entrance together and then go inside."

"Fine. Do you need anything special for the auction?"

"Nope!" he grinned happily. "Once we have the auctioneer, and the message from the godfathers comes through, we're good to go!"

"See you out front, then."

He hung up, already planning the most entertaining route to their meeting point.

A mob-boss was passing below, surrounded by the usual escort of two guards. Some of the bodyguards showed signs of low-level nen mastery too. Shalnark sighed regretfully.

Kuroro had also forbidden them to touch the buyers and their representatives at the auction; after all, killing them prematurely meant missing out on all their money. Part of the fun of this heist was what the clients would do in twenty-four hours when all the goods mysteriously vanished into thin air.

"_We'll hurt them most by leaving them alive, humiliated and stripped of the wealth that they love most," _the chief had argued.

But the thrill of _having_ stolen something wasn't as good as the thrill of actually _stealing_ it.

Other than the bosses and the ambulance, though, everyone outside the building was fair game. And Shalnark liked taking control of his enemies, manipulating their words and bodies as the situation demanded. That sort of control signified the pinnacle of cleverness, and ultimate safety: opponents, bystanders, anyone at all could be transformed into an instantly obedient puppet. They would do whatever he wanted until he released them or they snapped under the strain.

Shalnark hopped to the ground, a faint haze of mist or smoke creeping over his shoes.

As for himself, he only took orders from one person. _Act without restraint,_ the boss had commanded. _The way Ubo would._ So Shalnark made his leisurely way to the auction house, a trail of broken bodies in his wake.

* * *

><p>Kurapika stared down at the battlefield, impressions of death thudding through her in a dull, irregular rhythm. At her side, the Spider shifted from foot to foot — his movements a vibration in the fabric of the natural world. <em>An insult to the natural order of things,<em> she thought viciously. But she knew that, in that regard alone, she didn't have the right to condemn the Spider. _In that alone._ At her side, her fist tightened around its chains.

"It's only a matter of time before they all die, you know," the ghost of the Spider said from behind her.

Ever since she had been forced to acknowledge his reality, he had become remarkably talkative. Kurapika thought that he might have decided the best strategy for neutralizing her was the distraction of meaningless chatter – or perhaps he was just bored.

_Or naturally irritating._

"You don't care if they're slaughtered?" His translucent face suddenly shoved itself into her own, but she could and did focus through him. "Huh. You really are one damned cold brat."

"This is the _mafia's_ underground auction," she hissed, needled into a response despite her intentions. "As far as I'm concerned, they all share in the guilt."

_This is where they buy and sell pieces of other people!_ She wanted to kill them too. If they were innocent, they would never have come. Everyone here deserved to die. _I should crush them all._

The Spider laughed. "I wish I had the chance to fight you again, Kurata!"

She was saved from a truly futile demonstration of wrath by the ringing of her phone.

"Yes?"

"Kurapika!" Senri sounded panicked. "Where are you? Are you at the Cemetery Building?"

"Yes."

A stutter of gunfire came through the speaker. Then Senri could be heard again. "Have you seen Miss Neon?"

Kurapika frowned, turning back from the edge. "No."

"She gave us the slip at the airport," the melody-hunter reported in agitation. "Someone reported that she collapsed inside the building right before the fighting started! Daltzorne went in to retrieve her, but now he's not answering his phone!"

"I'll let you know if I see either of them," Kurapika promised, already headed for the door inside. Wind gusted around her, chilling her fingers and ears. "Fighting does not appear to have penetrated far into the building's interior, but … I don't suggest your group send any more people in."

"But—"

"Trust me." Kurapika thought rapidly. "If Neon is not already dead, then she won't be killed at this stage."

Without waiting for a response, she hung up.

For a second she paused, tapping the phone against her hand — then she put it away. _One lesser family's heiress wouldn't be a high-profile target._ If Neon had collapsed before everything went to hell, then security would have stashed her somewhere out of the way until an ambulance could be called … So long as the silly girl didn't get up and start running around again, she would be safe. _By nature of __her very irrelevance._

The Kurata dismissed Neon from consideration.

Short, rapid steps took her across the roof to the stairs. Before she could open the door, however, a shadow blocked her path: the dead Spider, trying to stop her once again. The chain between them rattled angrily.

"Get out of the way."

"You're mistaken if you think—"

"My mistake was telling you too much before I killed you," Kurapika snapped. "We established a personal connection, much as it disgusts me to say. Apparently, you hated me enough to suspend your passage to the next world."

_And I hated you enough to want you to suffer, beyond death._

"Yeah, well," the Spider grinned, crossing his arms. "You _were _telling me all about how you intend to kill my friends and destroy everything and whatever. Blame yourself for being so convincing."

If he'd been alive, she could have made him _pay_ for that.

"Tell me where the Eyes are, and I'll leave your Spider alone."

The big man just snorted. "Huh. I doubt it."

"Duty comes before everything. Even vengeance." Inside, she was seething – but her voice remained cold. "You can't possibly understand."

_How important the Eyes are to me._ But she was no longer certain of that._ Don't waste time._ Was she wasting time on the Ryodan – for selfish, personal revenge – when she should throw all her energy into reaching the Eyes? Did they even have the information she needed? Hatred silenced her doubts. _They have to. They just … have to._

"Sure I get it." The Spider crossed his arms, smirking. "You're pissed off because your tribe got wiped out, so you want to do something to make yourself feel better. It's not _that_ hard to work out. And it doesn't make you too special to understand."

Furious, Kurapika bit her tongue and ducked past him.

"Self-righteous idiots like you are always so much fun to kill," he remarked from behind her, undeterred. "No matter what you do to the hypocritical bastards who truly believe in their cause, they never let go! It's amazing! The best feeling is crushing all that conviction with your bare hands."

Cursing him, and herself, Kurapika slammed the door to the roof. The noise from the fighting below cut out as she descended the stairs. She concentrated strictly on keeping her breath steady. Losing control and killing people blindly would only make her more like one of _them_.

The Spider followed her every step, dragged by the slender chain of regret that bound them together.

* * *

><p>Kuroro waited on the raised stage.<p>

He had thought about avoiding the Zaoldyeks, turning a blind eye to their presence until Illumi came through on that favor … but in the end, he couldn't resist the confrontation. So he had chosen to wait for them in one of the basement halls, the one that the Spiders had cleaned out just days ago. Stealing skills from the Zaoldyeks, though … it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

_Well,_ he thought back to the day the eighth Spider had died, _maybe twice in a lifetime. For me. _He had missed that time, but he had also grown so much stronger in the interval. He didn't need to hesitate. Their encroaching presence tingled across his awareness, even as they concealed the pressure of their auras.

_It's all in the timing._ He could have requested one or more of his Spiders to fight here with him … Kuroro grinned. _Where would be the gain in that?_ He wanted to test his own strength this time. And he really, really wanted to steal something from the Zaoldyeks.

The doors opened.

* * *

><p>The building shook under the force of a large explosion. Somewhere, someone had unleashed a devastating force that caused the lights to buzz and flicker uncertainly over Kurapika's head. <em>If that was the assassination team, only the Zaoldyeks have that kind of power. If that was the Spiders … this place is doomed<em>. But the power held, and the elevator continued to carry her down.

"What I don't get," the Spider said finally, with an unusual degree of thought behind the words. "Is why you're so dead-set on suicide. Eventually everyone who participated in the massacre of your people will die. If you really cared about carrying on and all that, you would be trying to revive your clan—"

Kurapika _snarled_ at him.

Surprise painted his expression for a blessed minute of silence. He was _insane_ for suggesting such things. Trying to trick and hurt and insult her all at once. _The tribe can never be resurrected_.Knowing that, she had sold her short life to blood and death instead. It didn't matter if he understood or not. It didn't matter if the Spiders ever realized the weight of their sins. _So long as they suffer for it._

Her worse nature prompted her to give it up: to break out of this stifling box and join in the murder and mayhem outside. To give violent, final expression to the grief of her tribe's massacre. She was _more_ than capable of annihilating everything between her and the—

The elevator shuddered, shrieking, to an abrupt and unplanned stop.

* * *

><p>Beyond the rocks piled on his head, Kuroro could hear the ringing of a phone. Right on schedule.<em> The gamble paid off.<em> He took a moment to catch his breath, since moving now might still jeopardize his well-being.

"Yes?" Silva Zaoldyek, who had come quite close to caving his head in, asked from outside the pile of rubble. "Illumi?"

"Is my client there?" a faint, familiar voice inquired, with a slight hiss of static.

"Yes, yes."

Kuroro pushed his way out of the ruined wall. The old fox also popped up a few feet away, similarly bruised but not truly damaged. _Well, our clothing has definitely come out the worse,_ Kuroro corrected himself. The suit he had been wearing was torn beyond recognition. He decided not to get to his feet just yet.

"He's here." The big Zaoldyek was eyeing him with distinct hostility, but he made no move.

"Oh, you were fighting?" his son asked from the transmitter in his fist. "Did he almost die? So much the better! Tell him this from me: godfathers eliminated. I'm waiting for the bank transfer, as agreed."

Lights on the transmitter blinked, and went out.

Kuroro allowed himself an intense, brilliant surge of private satisfaction. He so loved to use other people's strengths against them. Doubly so, in this case.

Some of his followers had been vehemently opposed to allowing anyone else to take retribution on the mafia's leaders, but he had stuck with the more practical course of action. The Spider would seize a less material vengeance, even as they stole the treasure, and the godfathers had just been eviscerated by the very weapon they intended to wield against the Ryodan. And Kuroro had survived his own personal test.

_Success._

The old man chuckled, pulling him back to the dusty present.

"It was close." He winked at Kuroro, "We both just escaped death."

"You sure you don't want to finish the fight?" Kuroro asked, still hoping to get a skill or two out of the deal.

"Our clients were the godfathers. They're dead, so we wouldn't get paid," the old fox grinned. "Under these conditions, you're no longer a target."

"Oh?" Kuroro got up and brushed himself off briskly. "You won't get the same opportunity again."

_Neither will I, most likely. I'm growing too powerful to fight casually anymore … the next contract will end with someone dead._

The assassin shook his head. "You should know better. Zaoldyeks don't do this for pleasure. For me, even if it's work, I'll avoid death at any cost."

Which would explain how he had lived to such a spry old age, despite his occupation.

"May I ask you something?"

"Yes," the old man replied, without promising to answer.

"One on one, which of us would win?"

"Me, of course," Zeno Zaoldyek snorted, and turned his back. "Though if you had decided to fight with your full strength, it would be a different story. Do you think I didn't know your game? Your generation. None of you show respect for your elders."

_So you weren't fooled._ Kuroro watched him depart with aged dignity. Silva followed after shooting one last, intimidating glare over his shoulder. _You also missed an opportunity._ Kuroro chuckled – once the door was safely closed behind them, of course.

"Ah, damn." He collapsed backwards into the rubble, arms outstretched and a rueful grin tugging at his mouth. "I didn't get what I wanted for myself."

* * *

><p>Machi and Hisoka – <em>why did I get stuck with him again?<em> – slipped into the Cemetery building through an unguarded sidedoor. _Their security relied too heavily on contract specialists to take us out; but the boss predicted that as well._ Phinks and Feitan should be moving in from the other side of the building as well. The quietest and most efficient killers, both teams were in charge of securing the backstage of the auction hall before Coltopi and Shizuku arrived to start their work on the goods.

Much as she disliked admitting it, her and Hisoka's abilities complimented each other – _at least we both prefer similar ranges, so we advance at an even pace _– and their progress through the area was rapid.

Pakunoda and Shalnark had already infiltrated the hall to locate and collect the auctioneer; he was the only person that the Ryodan needed alive for this plan – _though the boss suggested leaving the moving crews alive, to keep there from being a noticeable lack of personnel_ – so they made a clean sweep of the area.

None of the guards inside were noticeably superior to the guards outside_. Sloppy. Then again, Dancho did say that he wanted to be the one to draw off the professionals. Guess he got bored and took out anyone who looked like a good fight._

When the last weakling finally moved out of sight of the main stage, Hisoka mockingly offered the man a light before Machi could hang him from the catwalk. And that was it.

Shalnark already had control of the auctioneer and the Zaoldyeks had come through on their end, faking a message from the godfathers that announced the thieves' death. For Machi's part, all that was left was helping Pakunoda display the items on-stage for the auction. But first she had to find a corner to change into her disguise, and do it fast enough to avoid detection by Hisoka – _or worse, Phinks_ – and make it through the ordeal without embarrassing herself in front of the entire Ryodan and an audience of mafia big-shots.

Finding a secluded nook between the stacks of wooden crates, Machi shivered. _This place is __too cold,_ she grumbled to herself, not quite certain it was safe to strip off her comfortable clothes and get into the uncomfortable, _impractical_ disguise. _I can even see my breath when I exhale. What kind of treasures are they keeping here – raw meat?_ The faint cloud of breath blew away from her, to join the rest of ground-mist that curled in the corners of the large, echoing hall.

"Machi!" Shizuku called from behind her. "Coltopi wants you."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"Where is he?"

"Umm … that way, maybe?"

Machi snorted, and headed in the opposite direction from where Shizuku pointed. Sure enough, she found the mop-headed midget sitting in between boxes – next to him stood one Franklin, while another lay on the ground beside what looked like lifeless duplicates of Feitan, Shalnark, and Shizuku. _Not this ability,_ she thought with an internal grumble.

"The boss is already out delivering his corpse," Hisoka grinned from atop a crate.

Coltopi nudged the Shizuku-copy away.

"Just sit here," he instructed.

Complaining mentally, Machi knelt. Coltopi placed one hand on top of her head and held out the other over empty air. His hatsu surrounded her for a brief moment: like ice-water and hot wax on her skin. On the ground underneath his empty hand, a blank-eyed doll with Machi's face and clothes and faint grimace materialized. This particular ability was invaluable to the Ryodan, even though the items it copied were inanimate and disappeared after a set time … _But I really hate it when he copies bodies_.

Franklin – who had been declared too obvious to disguise – and Feitan – who had declared himself opposed to suits, but was more likely in it for the fun of cutting up bodies – gathered the copied corpses and set out to scatter them in plausible arrangements throughout the grounds.

Lucky Machi got to wear a wig and move priceless, heavy treasures on- and off-stage while wearing heels.

_Why Pakunoda enjoys tripping around in these damn shoes, I will never know._

* * *

><p>Suspended between destinations, Kurapika shook with anger. Her thoughts had stalled, like the elevator, unable to reach a meaningful conclusion. Breaking out was a simple process of picking a weak point in her cage and pounding through it – but she could not decide which direction to go.<p>

_Up to the auction items … or down to battle._

Kurapika could sense the Spiders, tightening their web around the auction house. And she could feel the presence of the Scarlet Eyes, like the taste of blood on her tongue, achingly near and within her grasp if she reached out to steal them herself. But still she had a duty to sacrifice her own gratification. She could not afford to act recklessly at such a critical juncture.

When the phone rang again, she felt the shock of it all through her nerves.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded tight even to her own ears.

"Kurapika! Finally!" Gon shouted in her ear. "Are you free?"

"No, not really," she said in something of an understatement. "I'll call you back later."

"Wait! Just a minute! I'll tell you why I called!"

_If you insist on that,_ she thought with annoyance, _then don't waste your time asking if I'm free to talk in the first place._ She didn't want to, but she would hang up on him if necessary.

"Killua and I have met the Ryodan."

Her impatience died beneath the force of cold horror.

"More precisely," the idiot on the phone continued, "we got captured by them but––"

"_Are you insane?"_ She knew that she was shouting too loudly … and she could care less. "Do you know who those guys _are_?"

"We thought we knew," Killua's voice came over the phone, calming her a little with his reasonable tone, "but the reality is different. They're really strong and as we are now, we can't do a thing against them. That's why we need your advice." His next words froze her. "We want to help you."

_No. _Unbidden, her mind was already flying through the initial process of integrating them into her current plans. Who they were, what they could do, their possible uses, their likely limitations –– She was already calculating their value.

_But I don't want to become the sort of person who uses friends like that! I won't weigh and measure their value and think of how dearly their lives could be sold for something much dearer. They're different from the Nostrads and the Ryodan and all the others. Even if I would sacrifice myself for something –– There's no price worth their lives._

They wanted to help her, and that offer alone meant too much to be accepted.

"Don't be stupid!" she snapped, hoping that the boy read her pause as one born of inarticulate anger. "Don't count on me to help you get yourselves killed."

_You don't understand how I could sacrifice you. How I could cry over your graves, even after I was the one who put you there. _Her nails bit into her hands. _How I could still live with myself afterwards._

"Don't you want to know where their base is?" asked Killua, persuasively.

"I already have all the information I need," she said, not quite truthfully – ignoring the skeptical snort of the ghost in the background.

"We've learned all sorts of things about the skills of the members of the Ryodan," Killua argued. But he was probably lying.

"Stop being stubborn! And just stay out of it!"

"The chain wielder who killed one of them is you, right?" the Zaoldyek boy said bluntly, changing tactics. "They're actively searching for you."

So the Ryodan had mobilized –– but she already knew that.

"It doesn't matter if you consider us companions capable of standing before them!" he shouted at her, driven to one of his bright flashes of frustration by her silence. "We're going to get involved no matter what!"

Kurapika was always alone. She both did and did not want companions. She did and did not want to be involved.

"Kurapika," Gon said, taking over the conversation once more. "We saw one of them crying. He said he would never forgive the one who killed his friend."

_Good. Let the Spiders suffer for once. They deserve it._ But her hatred was a dull knife in her heart, and only she was truly suffering for it.

"And when I saw that, I thought that I couldn't let people like them move freely," Gon kept talking in his sincere, painfully innocent way. "We also want to try our best to stop them."

_Because that's the right thing to do,_ his voice continued in her mind.

And she understood that, more than she understood their desire to help someone like her.

"Please, Kurapika."

"Okay," she said, not sure if she was lying. "I'll call you back."

With that promise, they hung up. Kurapika stared unseeingly at the walls closing in around her: a motionless, stifling box. Anger drained away into something more complex. Everything had become far more complex. It was no longer possible to attain all her goals: she would have to choose.

_Claim the Eyes, or avenge the Eyes. Protect my friends, or avenge my clan._

She wanted it all. There should still be a way of taking everything, if she could only prioritize her actions! Her chains punched through the top of the elevator, metal screeching in protest.

* * *

><p>Pulling the bandage off his forehead, Kuroro rubbed a dusty hand through his equally dusty hair. His lifeless double lay propped up, bloody from the wounds he had inflicted on it, against one ruined wall. <em>Doppelganger.<em> He shook the uneasy thought away.

Three of the four objectives had been met. A pity about the Zaoldyek's abilities, but his original purpose of countering the mafia's team of hired killers had been fulfilled. And the rest of the Ryodan was even now copying the auction goods and preparing the originals for transport. And he had stolen Neon Nostrad's skill. Kuroro's final goal of meeting Ubo's killer was the only one left completely unfulfilled.

_In light of the prediction, however, his absence must be our good fortune._ Smoke from the recent explosion cast a pall over the room – a dustcloud that distorted outlines and gathered at the edges … until from his peripheral vision the room seemed to have no walls or ceiling: just an endless space of shifting haze.

Kuroro flashed out of the basement, running too quick to be detected by a casual observer; there was no point in playing dead if you were caught on film leaving your own death-scene.

Mentally, he reviewed the loose ends of their night's work. Whoever the chain-user was, he hadn't been in evidence during the attack. Or he had been weak enough that no one even noticed taking him out. _Very unlikely._ Kuroro suspected that the unknown enemy preferred to isolate or ambush his targets. Both times he fought Ubo, he had done so only when the giant was separated from his comrades. However, by the time he realized that the bodies lying around the Cemetery building were fake, the entire Ryodan should be out of reach.

_Acting without complete information can be dangerous,_ Kuroro cautioned himself; it was why he had gone to the trouble of acquiring Neon's ability.

Unknowing, she had predicted the death of the Spider. However, what she said about her predictions held true: they existed to help people avoid an unwelcome fate. Now that he possessed her fortune-telling, the Ryodan should be able to escape further losses.

_No point in staying around here too long._ Perching on one of the outdoor tables in a courtyard, he waited until the ambulance he had arranged for the Nostrad girl pulled out of the garage. Then he pulled out his phone, calling Franklin – who was in charge of keeping their exit open.

"It's me. Yeah, let the ambulance pass. We stick to the original plan."

* * *

><p>Smoke and death teased at Kurapika's senses. <em>Perhaps even I underestimated my enemies. Two-hundred men plus reinforcements on the outer perimeter of the building, and the guns are already quiet.<em> She did not think it was the silence of victory for the mob. Clanking behind her as she hurried down the hallways, the ghostly Spider had also fallen silent. She couldn't discount him; his fierce scowl suggested he was planning something. Another point to consider: he might become a fatal liability in battle.

_Though not, necessarily, if I were fighting mafia security._

Rounding a corner, she finally reached the doors to the auction hall; a pair of guards stood outside. Their relaxed posture indicated that the fighting had not penetrated this far. She had seen no signs of it as she forced her way out of the elevator doors and trotted down the smoke-filled hallways, but that meant little in such a large building.

"The auction has already opened," one of the men said in surprise when she asked for an update. "The godfathers themselves sent a message giving the okay to begin."

"Yeah," his partner added. "I heard they announced that most of the thieves have been killed. Did you know they were from the Genei Ryodan?"

_What?_

"And now they're hunting the rest of them down. Pros are really something!"

_What?_

_No._

"It's true," an annoyingly familiar voice jeered from down the hall. "While the Nostrad family was fainting in the halls, the rest of our team cleaned up!"

A short, fat man she should know, but could not now name in the tempest of her confusion and fury, sauntered up.

"In other words, we don't need a lapdog like you anymore," he flapped a dismissive hand at her. "Go on inside and tell your insurance salesman of a boss to stop muscling in on my territory."

He was right in her space and she needed that space to think before the killing rage consumed her and she lost herself in the red haze of hatred and murder.

"Or would you rather stay around here with the professionals to prove that you're a failure?"

She recognized the sound of his glasses breaking, and the feeling of his nose crunching under the impact of her fist – but she could not connect it to any conscious impulse.

_I won't believe it._ Sudden decision snapped her back into the present. _Not until I see it with my own eyes!_

With a direction to go in, a meaningful destination to reach, she began to run – leaving the auction hall behind.

Stairs and hallways rushed by, and blurring people answered her questions in indistinguishable voices. _"Go that way, to the basement,"_ they told her, guiding her path to the place where she would find the truth. She could smell the dust from the earlier explosion long before she reached the end of the stairs down. Kurapika crossed the threshold of a ruined, underground performance hall.

Her steps slowed as she approached the body sprawled limply against a broken wall. Muttering guards surrounded the area, seemingly at a loss for how to proceed. One of them twisted the corpse's head back to look in its vacant face.

"That's their leader? He's so young."

Blood spattered dark hair and skin. One arm had been completely torn away. The open edges of the wounds were blackened, as if by flames. Crimson streams congealed beneath the eyes and mouth.

The voices of the guards murmured around her.

"Don't damage the body more than it already is!"

"––need to broadcast the picture on the net."

"Send a clear message–– "

"Find out where they come from," one of the men in charge ordered behind her. "Take whatever you need to identify them, and where they come from and who they're related to. Then kill everyone they've ever had close contact with. So no one will ever try this again. Anticipate the problem, and eliminate it."

Gunpowder and ashes filled Kurapika's mouth as she survived, one slow breath at a time.

* * *

><p>Machi waited, impatiently tapping her foot as she watched Coltopi copy another item. Her fingers itched, cold and naked without her gloves. <em>Maybe it's just annoyance.<em> Or maybe it was intuition. The faster this was over with, the better.

Shizuku passed her, carrying the last of the treasures.

"Coltopi! One more copy, please."

Pakunoda glanced over from the edge of the curtain, and blinked. "That's it?"

"That's it," replied the forger. He laid his hand on the double-cylinder of the case. "Last item: Scarlet Eyes."

The air warped and bent around them as his nen-skill activated.

* * *

><p>Ubo stood with his arms crossed, trying to keep his face as cold as stone. Not even when trying to bluff Machi at cards for the most outrageous stakes had he ever tried this hard to keep his expression immobile. He knew exactly what was lying slumped over in the rubble … and it wasn't Kuroro Lucifer's corpse.<p>

_Way to fool them, Dancho._ He clenched his hands into fists, to hold onto his wild laughter. The mafia thought they had won … but, as usual, the chief was three steps ahead. _That'll teach them to mess with the Ryodan!_

In front of him, the chain-user was actually shaking. Ubo only noticed because of the way it made the chain between them shake. If he'd dared, he'd have taken the chance to rile her up again. But that was a bad, bad idea. Better to let her think that this turn of events stunned him into silence. He couldn't ruin the plan.

Trying to look grief-stricken, the Spider turned his back on the display.

Guards swarmed all over the scene, dark figures in the rising mist. _As though there's anything left to do here._ Ubo tried not to bounce impatiently up and down. _C'mon, Kurata. Just give it up and let's go somewhere far, far away from the auction._ At least he hadn't been called back into the void just yet. Sheer, rock-headed persistence paid off for him — as usual.

A black shadow moved in the gaping, blasted doorway.

Ubo frowned, squinting to get a better look through the clouds. _That doesn't look like security._ His head turned to track the human-shaped silhouette … Had it just moved _through_ that guard? His extra-sensitive hearing was bugging him again, whispers and far-off cries lifting the hair on the back of his neck.

The fog was back, pouring through the doors to leech color out of everything – even the chief's fake corpse. Only the prowling shadow remained unchanged: a hazy, twisting shape of darkness. Ubo kept a curious eye on its progress across the room. _Maybe it's a demon or something._ He hadn't seen any other ghosts – beside the occasional, dim glow in the fog – and he'd become resigned to considering the kid his only source of entertainment and human contact … _But maybe there are others like me._

Ordinarily, the Spider would have just charged ahead and grabbed the thing by the throat for a closer look … but that had been before he died.

"Hey, chain-user."

She didn't answer – too distracted or unwilling to talk to the invisible man in front of her mafia-buddies. Ubo growled in annoyance. But the faint whispers were rising rapidly in pitch, throbbing painfully in his ears. Fog had begun to swirl over his feet. And did he smell something _rotting_?

"Chain-user. Hey. Seriously, Kurata! There's—"

The thing leaped, .

With a muffled curse, Ubo rolled instinctively to one side. The chain jerked painfully tight — then gave unexpectedly as, for the first time, _he_ was the one to control their movement.

Kurapika stumbled, dragged off her feet with the force of his pull.

"What—!"

Ubo was staring right at it when it happened. The mist-creature, missing its grab for him or the chain-user, landed on the fake corpse. The black, translucent substance of its shadow sank into the body, like water soaked into a sponge. Streamers of mist began to leak from eyes and mouth and nostrils and ears: an overflowing fountain of black and white and red.

"Kurata—"

"I see it." Unexpectedly, the girl was at his side.

"What is that?"

The Kurata's eyes were wide, and staring.

"Oi!" Ubo shoved his face into hers. "Answer me!"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

The corpse jerked, shuddering, into motion.

One second, it was lying there and bleeding fog — The next, it was taking the heads off of the nearest mobsters.

Shouting, their fellows opened fire. The battered corpse took several bullets straight to the torso and chest … and didn't even slow down. The last of the mobsters fell a second later, ineffectually stabbing the possessed doll. Silence descended on the basement.

Ubo stepped forward, ready to fight. Something told him that _this_, at least, he could take out his frustrations upon. Answers could come after he got the chance to beat the monster to an undead pulp. But that damned _chain_ yanked painfully into his chest as the kid grabbed on and held him back. She stared past him, eyes alight with fear and … something else.

"Don't. It's—" A severed head rolled past her foot, drawing a spattered line of blood and spinal fluid. Kurapika stared down at it, a spasmodic twitch running through her fingers. Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. "It's _hungry_."

Awkward, the puppet jerked around to fix cloudy, sightless eyes on them.

The chain sheared right through its neck.

With a thump, the head rolled off and bounced along the floor. Ubo watched it, feeling a little strange to see his Dancho's face on the dead puppet. _Doubly-dead,_ he thought grimly. _Like me._

Darkness hissed out of corpse for a minute – winding up like smoke and covering the pieces of the body like a shroud. Ubo wrinkled his nose at the smell. But it cleared away in moments, to reveal nothing more than Coltopi's lifeless doll.

Thick blood oozed from the stump of the neck: slow and sticky and already coagulating without the pressure of a heartbeat to keep it warm and mobile.

_Now that's fucking disturbing._

The kid must have agreed; she was already heading out of the room.

Much as it hurt to admit, she hadn't looked that scared before – not even when she ate the business end of his fist. _But this could be what I've waited for. _He tucked the thought aside for later. It wasn't clear which of them the wraith had been aiming for with that first attack. The thing hadn't stood much of a chance against Kurapika, either. His hand flexed. _I pulled her right off her feet back there_ … Would it be enough to cause her to fall in battle? And was it worth whatever happened to him afterwards?

The Spider glanced over his shoulder as they left – but the room and its corpses had been swallowed by the white, drifting fog.

* * *

><p>Kurapika sprinted up the stairs, her breath aching in her chest. <em>Out of time.<em> The reanimated corpse in the basement could have been anything: one last curse from the evil bastard who had been killed there, the work of the ghost beside her, a side-effect of too much death and power and malevolent energy in one place, or … _Or the work of something much more dangerous._ Her nails bit into her palms. She'd felt that hunger for murder before.

That all-consuming desire to destroy everything.

Neon Nostrad's prediction, infuriatingly ambiguous and nonsensical and more annoying than the dead man even now staring at her, kept running through her head.

**Where three roads meet, you are standing  
>in the gathering and scattering of ashes.<br>Your prayer that not one thing be lost  
>will be denied again<br>unless you choose that which is loved. **

It went on, three verses of unrhymed poetry that should make sense but only grew more cryptic.

_Three roads … an undesired choice between them._

The past: exact vengeance on the Ryodan for the death of her clan. The present: acquire a pair of Eyes in the building even now. The future: all the Eyes that the Ryodan could lead her to – if just one of them outlasted the night.

_Choose. And pay the price._

The chains felt hot as blood on her skin.


	8. Failure to Ignite

_As some of you have noticed, this is the point at which things start to diverge. Well, sort of. My original idea for this story began at the end of the York Shin arc ... but the deeper in I got, the more I realized that it felt awkward to hammer some of the changes into that time frame. So I decided to write an AU for the original arc. Which turned into this fic. It was supposed to be a little thing, but it grew into a full-length prequel. __(Yes, the entirety of AC is finished and right now I'm working on the second part. That's the secret behind the twice-weekly updates.) _

_Anyway, thinking back over what I've posted so far, I realized that something of an explanation of the gradual-timeline-divergence might be in order. That's it: I made a choice between quick/confusing and slow/not-confusing. (Hopefully it's working.) Now I feel compelled to reissue a disclaimer for no reason: I don't own Hunter X Hunter!_

_Thank you everyone who reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>: Failure to Ignite

The climb up from the basement took less time than Ubo hoped it would. The girl, apparently not-so-anxious to try elevators again, took the stairs two at a time. Dragged behind her, he was jerked along by the chain stretched tight and aching between them.

They emerged on the lobby of the ground floor, a place which had obviously seen some heavy fighting. Ubo tasted the surprising sweetness of the indoor flowers and perfumes – underneath, the heavy stench of blood and death lingered in the large, echoing room. The Spider batted a hand at his nose, annoyed by its capricious sensitivity.

Mist eddied in the corners of the hall, glowing in places with a strange, uneasy light.

Ubo shook himself, feeling the pressure of auras surging close to him once more. At first he thought they were walking through another crowd of mafia guards, late-comers who missed the action … Then he realized that all these men were all dead: a gathering of vague, shifting shadows roaming throughout the lobby and the street outside, murmuring to each other in indistinct voices. Their bodies littered the ground.

He peered closer, trying catch someone's attention.

"Don't look them in the eye," the Kurata advised unexpectedly.

Ubo snorted, "Trash. They're not tough enough to worry about."

Hardly worth the effort of swatting down, even if he had still been alive. Certainly, they didn't seem to have an effect on the chain-user. Their cloudy forms broke apart before her, whisking back into little swirls and columns of mist that slowly regained color and substance after she had passed. Ubo reached out one large hand, curious. But the shadows sifted through his fingers like fine sand.

"Remember what I said about a personal connection." Metal glinted in her upraised fist. "Some of these souls have yet to move on. If they attach themselves to you … freeing yourself will be difficult. More so than if one simply possessed your physical body."

"Huh." Ubo thought about it for a moment, deciding it might be best to keep his hands to himself and his gaze fastened on the kid's pretty blond head after all. "So wait! Dancho's – corpse – got possessed by one of these buggers?"

He'd almost said 'copy.' _Damn. This deception stuff is harder than Paku always made it look._ Ubo felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at the look the chain-user was giving him now. _Like she can see right through me._ Which she probably could, but now was no time to joke around about it.

"It's possible." Her voice sounded tight, edged with raw emotion. Something changed in her expression, and she looked away. "Or it was a lower-level curse: a remnant of nen without a spirit to focus it. Though even in that case, he should have gone after the Zaoldyeks."

"Why?" Ubo demanded. Then he swore at himself. _Because he's 'dead' and they're the ones who're supposed to have fucking killed him. _It was hard to keep track of the details when the kid was pelting him with an unexpected surplus of information. But her brisk pace had slowed – and he could see her guard dropping even as she lectured him.

_Keep talking, dumbass. You're not so smart as you think you are._

"I told you, a curse forms from a personal connection between the caster and the receiver. These souls are weak: without anchor or compass. Victims of violence, without a strong attachment binding them to their killers. Even if they did not want to die … nothing compels them to live. They'll be gone within the hour."

She picked a way through the lobby and its dead men quickly, only a few smears of blood and broken cloud marking her trail.

"A priest or a ceremony could hasten the process." At a small door, half-hidden by potted plants and mist, she paused to throw one look over her shoulder. "Weak phantoms like this will be satisfied with simple reassurance. As soon as they get evidence that their deaths have been noticed, they'll move on."

"I'm still here," Ubo objected, thinking of the bloody way his own death had been acknowledged by his fellows. "What makes me different?"

"Whatever it is you regret." The door closed behind them. She flicked him an unreadable glance before starting up the stairs. "Although my own regrets might play a role as well …" Her voice trailed off into silence.

Ubo was more than happy to stop talking at this point. He recognized the back stairway they were moving up now; he'd been here, the day before he died. _It will take us to the storage areas._ The Kurata ran ahead of his reluctant steps, searching for the doorway that would lead her to the rest of the Spiders. She must be searching for those damned eyeballs … but the Ryodan would be with the treasure. Either way, she would catch up to them soon. And the all the chief's clever schemes would come to nothing.

_What I regret._ He didn't even have to think for the answer. It had obsessed him ever since he woke up dead. He had failed to protect the Spider. _Twice._ The chain-user would lure them out, one by one, and crush them when she realized that no one could give her the answers she wanted. _Sometimes, kid, the world just deals a shitty hand – to you, or the people you care about. No one can tell you why._ Shooting Star taught those kinds of lessons early.

But the chain-user obviously had yet to lose her ideals, much as she tried to deny them. _If I were the boss, I could cripple her — even with nothing more than the power of speech._ Ubo's eyes widened. _That's it!_

"The answers you want died with Dancho," he called out to her back. "There's nothing for you in York Shin now."

The quick rhythm of her steps faltered.

"I told you the truth," he persisted, catching up with a rattle of chains. "I don't remember much about the massacre. But the boss never shares all the details of his plans. Not with anyone. None of the others can help you now."

He truly _didn't_ remember much about the Kurata job … probably because he never paid attention beyond the identity of the people he was going to fight. Ubo was a blunt instrument in the Ryodan's operations and he liked it that way. Thinking too hard got in the way of _living_. The Kurata, if she survived long enough, seemed determined to learn that the hard way.

_Weakness._ He had to take advantage of it now. Before she reached the wrong destination and figured it all out.

* * *

><p>Shalnark clicked another button and watched the auctioneer wave his arms to congratulate the latest winner.<p>

"All done over there?" he called to Coltopi.

The midget nodded. "Shizuku's going to vacuum the items. Then we'll get the car."

"I'll join you as soon as the last sale closes."

Pakunoda put a slender hand on his shoulder. "No, you don't," she ordered sternly. "You're staying right here to help the rest of us wrap up the copies up for our lucky customers."

"But—"

"It's not like you'll be doing the work yourself," she reminded him. "We need your puppets to keep up the illusion of normalcy."

Grumbling, he settled back into his perch on an empty crate.

"Hey, Paku!" Phinks whistled from the catwalks above. "Catch!"

A double-cylinder of glass (the final item of the auction) fell straight for their heads.

Startled, Pakunoda reached up to grab it, grey eyes widening—

The container slipped through her hands.

"Pay attention," Machi snapped, diving to rescue the (fake) treasure from a messy crash. She set the case back onto the trolley and glared up at Phinks. "I don't want to waste time mopping floors in these ridiculous clothes. You okay, Paku?"

"Yes." The woman still sounded startled. But she straightened her sleeves with practiced professionalism, and began to push the trolley onto the stage. "And I spent a long time finding you clothes that would fit _and_ look good. The least you could do is refrain from insulting them."

Shalnark chuckled … then ducked his head to avoid Machi's glare. _(Time to finish up anyway.)_ His auctioneer launched into another dramatic speech, prepping the audience for the grand finale of their auction. _Show time! Let's see how high the price will go._ He hoped this last sale would be exciting — the way Ubo would have liked.

* * *

><p>"Why are you pursuing this life? You're not really suited to it."<p>

Half-way up the last set of stairs, Kurapika turned to see the Spider's ghost regarding her with a strangely serious expression. Her fists clenched angrily. She _knew_ he was just trying to distract her … but she couldn't such statements go unchallenged.

"You don't know anything about it."

"I thought you were," he said, with unexpected candor. "But if you're really committed to revenge, you'd have taken that information on the phone earlier. No matter what it cost the person offering." At his words, she started walking again, but she couldn't help hearing: "I've seen unhappy people before."

Kurapika twitched her shoulder, as though to shake off an unwanted hand. Even if he tried to pry out her secrets, the only threat he posed was psychological; the only power he had was what she gave him. Blood beat behind her eyes in a gathering headache.

_I swore ― no matter what stands in the way_.

"I won't stop. Not even if I have to kill every damn one of the Ryodan twice."

He chuckled, a low and menacing growl. "You might have some trouble the second time around."

"That makes no difference to me."

The Spider snorted derisively, and this time she couldn't fault him for his doubts.

Kurapika turned away once more, fingernails driven into her palms. Despite her bold front, the conflict was still tearing at her insides. _I want everything. Revenge, the Eyes, my friends, my purpose! It should all still be possible. I just need the right course of action. _Thinking was becoming difficult. She had rushed into this prematurely, without a definite plan and without support. _Stupid!_

Unable to stand her own breaking thoughts, the Kurata kept running.

_One more place to go. One more door to pass through. One more grave to dig up._ She had a duty to her own dead.

The upper auction hall was alive with noise and crystal chandeliers and people, as wide and open as the room in which the Ryodan's leader had fallen.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you! We're closing the auction for today!"

Kurapika halted on the threshold, staring across the gulf of space to the brightly lit stage.

"This is the last item!" the man at the podium puffed. "One of the seven wonders of the world!"

The Eyes stared blindly across the room back at her, brilliant and crimson as fire.

"One pair of the thirty-six in existence!"

She couldn't breathe.

"From the Kurata clan, now extinct, we present to you the Scarlet Eyes! Notice that this pair is of particularly fine quality, with a deep, vibrant red. Starting price: one-hundred million zenni!"

She needed to _move_. Recognizing her purpose, Kurapika strode forward into the back tier of the hall. Her hand clenched around its chains, and the dead man dogging her steps stumbled as she jerked him into the room after her. Sweat glistened on her forehead as adrenaline flooded her veins and her stomach twisted painfully. But so many days and weeks of anticipating this one moment kept her running smoothly along the only acceptable course of action.

_That's right, I will pay any price. _Standing in the background, Kurapika knew that she attracted a few stares from the seated elite, but she didn't care. _Any price to keep my comrade from disappearing._

"Three-hundred and ten million zenni on the left! Going once!" the auctioneer was shouting, arms waving stiffly.

"Three-hundred-fifty!" Nostrad Senior was sitting towards the middle, invisible in the crowd but she recognized his voice as he bid.

_Because Neon Nostrad should have whatever her so loving father can give her_, Kurapika thought with an irrational, vehement bitterness that she would ordinarily have kept far from her conscious mind.

"Three-hundred-seventy!"

"Three-hundred and seventy-five!"

"Four hundred!"

The minimal increases in price provoked another unreasoning surge of anger. _The Eyes are worth more than this. More than the petty haggling of the corrupt, who can never comprehend their true value._ But she could only watch, hating them all, until the buyer was decided … until her target chose himself.

Nostrad's hand waved into the air again. "Five hundred!"

Some of his competitors seemed to hesitate.

"Going once––" the auctioneer started, raising a hand of his own.

"One billion!"

Kurapika turned. Zenji stood behind her, holding his broken nose. His glare matched hers for ire.

* * *

><p>Kuroro joined Franklin and Feitan at what had been a security checkpoint, to find them arm-wrestling. They nodded at each other, but he declined to join in the game. Instead, he took a seat on part of a broken barricade, content to wait for the others to arrive. Smoke from the recent explosions crept in bluish clouds about the building behind them.<p>

Pakunoda came a short time later, to report that the rest of the Spiders would be driving out momentarily.

"Shalnark says the turn-out is better than he'd estimated," she smiled. "Even with the Zaoldyek's fee, we'll break a profit."

He nodded, not really listening to the details. Such things worked themselves out one way or another … there were more difficult considerations to keep in mind now. Evidently, however, his mask of polite interest wasn't enough to fool Pakunoda's experienced eyes.

"What are you thinking, Dancho?"

The Spider smiled. "The next step."

"Still at work in our moment of triumph." She shook her head, a light note of mockery covering over concern.

"The world is a mutable place. Always changing," replied Kuroro philosophically. "There's always something new to chase after."

"Or the return of something old," she countered, kicking the stiff hand of a mafia guard's corpse away from her foot.

"That too." He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "We need to finish this job quickly."

_Get back to Shooting Star and end this._ But first he needed to decide. Neon Nostrad's prediction burned uncomfortably in his pocket. _How to change the future._

* * *

><p>The Kurata followed the Eyes. Her vision was hazed, unfocused by the confused pressure of grief and joy and despair and rage and fear. But she needed to concentrate. Slowly, step by step, her mind recovered. The chains around her hand, the sound of her footsteps on carpet and marble tile, the smells of blood and smoke mixing with perfume and exotic flowers: it was reality.<p>

She tracked Zenji effortlessly through the building; he had yet to pick up any of his personal guards from wherever he had stashed them. Maybe they were dead ― if they got in her way she would kill them. She didn't care. The mafia don took the stairs to the parking-garage, carrying the Eyes with him. Kurapika stalked after, as invisible and unnoticed to outsiders as the dead man trailing on his chain behind her.

Zenji disappeared through the doors to the garage, apparently more intent on getting his prize away from what had so recently been a battlefield than he was on gloating to his peers about his successful purchase.

A ten count later and Kurapika followed him through the doors.

The fat man didn't even hear her as she prowled silently after him between rows of polished cars.

The rest of the world, even the shadow of the giant Spider, narrowed into the single point that was the man holding her raw, bleeding heart in a box of stolen goods. She suppressed a vicious snap of loathing and pride: the creeping overconfidence of a predator that knows its prey is hopelessly outmatched.

Zenji stopped a car, fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

Kurapika slammed his head forward into the car. Cracks spread from the impact of his forehead, a butterfly in damaged glass. A smear of blood streaked the window as he dropped.

The last Kurata took the Eyes, crushing his fallen cigar underfoot as she fled.

An ordinary attacker would have left the Cemetery Building, escaping the premises as fast as possible … so Kurapika did the opposite, heading straight back inside with her precious burden.

In the safety of a bathroom, she set the case down on the tile counter. Wisely, the shadowy Spider was staying as far away from her as the chain would allow. Perhaps he too was wrapped in private mourning. _No one else can hurt like this … Our suffering never ends. _Fine tremors wracked her hands as she opened the plain wooden box.

Not daring to look directly, she worked by touch alone to free the glass container of its protective layers of packaging. Kurapika took a moment to steady her hands on the slippery surface before placing it gently down on the tile counter.

Then she looked on what remained of someone she had once called kinsman.

Red eyes, so like her own, floated gently in a double-cylinder of preservative fluid. She had seen them in mirrors, and in pictures, and in August, and then in the auction hall – but she had not truly looked at them there, because other people were watching and above all she must not betray herself _so close_ to her goal.

Because no one was here to see – _no one but the dead_ – she removed the black contacts from her own eyes. The Kurata checked them in the mirror, to see if they looked the same as the dead pair someone else had just paid three-billion zenni to purchase. _We are the same._

Kurapika found that even now she could not cry, but she put her head under the sink faucet to wash away the trembling with freezing water.

The Eyes drifted in their cylinder, sightless and dead. _Dead_. She gave in to the temptation – to again touch the presence slumbering beneath eyes without eyelids to close in true sleep. Even if just for a moment, she wanted to know that something – _someone_ – precious to her still existed. Humming, the dowsing chain dropped from her hand to hover over the Eyes.

Kurapika steadied her aura, envisioning it flowing around her like water, like blood. Then she reached out along the chain, feeling for the Eyes on the other end.

_Nothing._

The gap she tried to bridge stretched on forever: a blank, a void as grey as oblivion.

_Nothing and nothing._

She could cast her chain down this empty well a thousand times over, but nothing lay at the bottom.

_No one here but me._

She let the dowsing chain hang from her ring-finger, useless.

_They're fake._

Her mind raced across other possibilities – she had just checked them before the auction! This couldn't be the same … _But it could. _

Clinging to the bathroom counter, she slid to her knees.

She _hadn't_ checked. Not with the dowsing chain, not with her own nen. She hadn't _dared_ — trusting the mafia to have checked thoroughly to certify their items as originals. In the auction hall, she had avoided looking directly at them after that first, anguished stare. She hadn't believed she could be fooled like this, not even in her darkest, most terrifying nightmares.

She had failed.

_Keep breathing. Keep thinking. Consider the options. What happened here?_

If they weren't fake, then what were they? If something had happened to alter the originals, there would be physical signs. They simply could not be red and empty at the same time. Every child of the Kurata knew what that color meant after death.

Only one conclusion: they could only be fake. These were someone else's eyeballs, treated with red dye to make a remarkably accurate copy.

_Alright_. She was alright. She could get up from this, and keep moving. Distantly, she felt herself begin to automatically move through the appropriate steps of rewrapping the Eyes – _fake_ – and replacing them in their box. No one but her could have discovered this difference – they weren't real – it was alright to let someone else take them … _It's alright_ …

Kurapika met her own bloody eyes in the mirror, and pounded the glass into glittering shards.

* * *

><p>Ubo stood like a rock in the back of a women's restroom. The grey fog was creeping up on him again, but he held onto reality with the grim tenacity that had kept him from true death for the past twenty-four hours. He remained silent, a single thought recurring over and over in his mind: <em>This person is dangerous.<em>

Somehow, she had detected the imposture of the Eyes. Not even Coltopi's perfect duplication of the treasure had fooled her for long. Something had made her suspicious enough to check, with another one of her damned chains. So how much time would it take for her to connect all the dots? To realize that the Ryodan had faked its own death, and was even now bearing away the real auction items to the hideout?

The ghost had seen them: familiar faces moving through the background of the auction – and then again, he had seen the copied bodies lying across the false trail left for their enemies. But those bodies could become real enough, too fucking easily. They _would_ become real, if he didn't find some way to stop the chain-user.

He knew some of the cracks in her seemingly iron determination. Despite her attempt to hide it, he had seen her hesitate during the chaos of the Ryodan's assault. She had too many goals, too many enemies to attack: far too many hatreds and desires. Left without a direct target, her deadly passion would turn elsewhere, or burn itself out. All Ubo needed to convince her to look away from the Spiders long enough for them to get away … or take her by surprise.

"_The best lies,"_ Pakunoda's long ago advice whispered in his ear, "_are almost the truth."_

* * *

><p>Cars crashed past like falling stars, blurs of light and speed and noise. Kurapika let them fall away from her; their seething river of incomprehensible motion pouring through the arteries of York Shin. She also moved, breathing and walking and living in the moment. The box was held steady in her hands.<p>

Inside her head, thoughts rose up and broke apart and splashed down like a fountain's cascade.

How was it possible that the mafia had neglected to check the authenticity of this particular item?

_The Ryodan—_

No. She had spent too much time on the Spider, chasing them and their shadows across the city; and it had cost her the Eyes. The pain and despair of discovering they were fake even after fighting trash like Zenji for them – she could have been spared more agony if she had just focused on what truly mattered.

_The Ryodan is dead._

Splinters of wood bit into her fingers as they clenched around the box. The faint tug of the nen-chain connecting her heart to that of the dead man claimed her attention. She bent her head yet farther, unwilling to allow him the satisfaction of witnessing her pain. At least she would be free of more ghosts. Only the spirits of her own dead clan called to her now – with every aching contraction of her still beating, still bleeding heart.

One of the shapes in the darkness ahead resolved itself into a man with a gun.

"Do you think you can just leave like this?" Zenji snarled thickly. "Think I'll let Nostrad _steal_ from me? I bought those – _won _them! – for myself!"

She kept walking, even as he raised the gun.

"Stop! Or I'll blast your head open."

"Get away."

"I'm warning – you …" he faltered.

"Don't even think about it." She lifted her head to stare through his ruined face. "I'm ready to kick the ass of the first person I meet. You included."

If he shot now, if he _moved_, she would murder him. And it would take all her willpower to make it a quick death. Her eyes burned with the full force of her rage. Zenji froze before her, not even able to lower his weapon before her advance. She dropped the box at his feet: a hollow, meaningless clatter of noise. The temptation to kill disappeared even as his existence vanished from her mind.

Kurapika kept moving, drowning in the broken lights of the city.

* * *

><p>They drank to Ubo's memory and a successful heist. Laughter and grumbling mixed together as bets were closed, jokes revived, and scores paid off. A new pool opened, on how long it would take them to hunt down the individual families involved in the slave-trade. All around them, moths fluttered into the candle-flames.<p>

Sitting on a crate of stolen treasures from the underground auction, the bite of alcohol on his tongue, Kuroro watched the insects flare brightly as they died.

He had made his decision. Remaining in York Shin endangered the Ryodan; even armed with knowledge of the future, there was no sure way to avoid disaster. And they had half of what they came for; the mafia's connection to Shooting Star could be traced from inside the city itself. Even though a comrade had fallen, the Spider must survive. He would do anything to ensure it.

Kuroro toasted Ubo's ghost, and buried his friend in the past.

* * *

><p>Hour after hour died.<p>

In the dirty water of the harbor, ripples distorted the reflection of the setting moon. Kurapika stood on the roof of a warehouse somewhere in York Shin's docks, wondering if it was possible to burn and freeze at the same time. Her hands still trembled, and she could not force the chains to dematerialize, even though they were draining her nen uselessly. A migraine beat with the blood behind her eyes.

_Fake._

The mafia's Scarlet Eyes were nothing more than an imitation. Zenji had reclaimed them from her, but he was a fool. Whatever presence that had seemed to emanate from them in the auction house must have been the illusion of Kurapika's own hopeful overconfidence; a projection that fooled her with shades of her own pathetic desperation. Not since the death of the clan had she felt more alone.

_Lost._

She had nothing. Not even revenge remained; the other assassins had killed half of the Ryodan while she hesitated to act. Six dead tonight, one killed last night, and Hisoka a traitor –– only five of the Spiders survived.

Finally finding something to focus on besides her own emptiness, she turned to look at the ghost sitting on the edge of the building.

* * *

><p>"Aren't you going to cry for your comrades?" the Kurata asked suddenly, breaking into Ubo's contemplation of his last night in this world. He couldn't see much – the mist was curling up off the ocean, surrounding the full moon with a hazy halo. Dim lights and shadowy towers marked the half-unseen outlines of skyscrapers behind them. Or maybe those lights were the ones he had been seeing, every time he slipped out of the living world.<p>

Ubo flipped up and backwards from the building's ledge, landing on his feet beside Kurapika.

"We all know the risk," he shrugged.

"You sacrificed everything to protect them–" she sounded almost grieved, "–and you failed."

_Half right, kid. _He grinned. _I died for my comrades. And no one can take that from me._

"At least now I'll have company in the afterlife."

She backed away, the chain stretching tight between them. Fog drifted around their feet.

"I don't understand."

_I know you don't. And I'll do my damnedest to keep it that way._ He had recognized the Chief's plan from the moment that the Ryodan began to act openly. A good one, but it needed all of the Spiders working together to succeed. Ubo knew that he would have to make one more sacrifice for the Ryodan. Anything to get the chain-user off their backs.

"Look, brat," he said, standing all alone before her in their little bubble of clarity in the mist. He thumped a hand on the invisible barrier over her head in an almost friendly gesture. "You don't have to understand. This is just how it is for us."

"_What would we gain for abandoning the Ryodan?"_ he remembered what the Chief had asked on the first night of the auction. _"Glory? Money? Power? How could any of us be satisfied with those __sorts of things?"_

It was true. Ubo had realized it when he saw Phinks at the counter of the auction – and Shalnark and Pakunoda and Hisoka and the others, though he couldn't catch a glimpse of Nobunaga. They were everything he cared about. Outside of the Spider, nothing held any value. He had loved his strength, and enjoyed killing the avengers most – because that was the truest way to protect his comrades from those who posed the greatest danger.

"_You've got guts,"_ Nobunaga had told him, back when they first met – before even the beginning of the Ryodan. _"Let's fight together."_

Grey mist was all around him now, curling up like smoke.

Ubo was strongest when he had someone to fight beside … someone to protect. Strong enough to snap the chain still binding him to life, because that was the way to convince this last avenger that they were all well and truly dead. And he knew what to say, to make her believe.

"It was fun, kid," he said in answer to her wide-eyed, crimson stare. "But I'm going ahead to meet my friends now."

_This is the last thing I have to offer you, for whatever it's worth._

"See you in hell."

The chain broke, and he caught fire.

* * *

><p>The Spider's shadow burned away before her. Ghostly flames danced around his form, cold as the stars, consuming everything. Kurapika watched, feeling as though she should go blind any moment. Seeing the enemy she had hated, killed, and still not forgiven, achieve the peace of mind and fortitude of will necessary to free himself … The world was ending again.<p>

Then the moment was gone – _he_ was gone – and still the world wasn't ended. After a day of his spirit hounding her footsteps, he disappeared as softly as snow in spring. But she couldn't forget his crooked, joyous smile.

_How could he be so peaceful about the death of his companions? How could he just let go?_ she asked herself hollowly. A second time, she had lost the chance to discover the truth of the Red Eyes massacre. And … _I never knew his name._

Wind from the open ocean blew the hair about her face, chasing the fishy smell of the harbor away with that of clean salt and water. She held the phone in her hands, turning it over and over in hesitation. Could she choose between the past or the present?

_Avenge –– or protect?_

But in the end she couldn't stand to let the Spider's words echo in her ears any longer. She couldn't watch her world crumble for a second time, even as small and narrow as it had become.

"Kurapika?" asked Gon when he answered her call.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

_You sacrificed everything,_ her own words mocked her. _And you failed._

"You said that you wanted to arrest the Ryodan," she said to her friend. "You needn't bother any longer. All the Spiders are dead."

"Kurapika! You mean ––"

"The Genei Ryodan no longer exists."

_My hunt is over._

She hung up on his questions, and tried to gather her shattered thoughts.

_I also have comrades that I want to protect. Even if it means breaking a promise, I need to keep Killua and Gon and Leorio away._ This one thing she wanted to keep from being lost.

* * *

><p>Zenji didn't trust anything he hadn't seen himself, but he also didn't waste time questioning the things that appeared before him as reality. Profit was made by snatching any opportunity that presented itself. But profit was lost by acting too brashly. Sitting on a curbside, mud from the street staining his shoes and a valuable trophy beside him, he slowly regained his power to think. The gun felt hot and slippery in his sweaty hand as he stared after the shadow of the last living Kurata.<p> 


	9. Variable Acceleration

_Thanks everyone who reviewed!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>: Variable Acceleration

Cloud shadows drifted over the water, dimming the sunlight. The high cry of seagulls filled the air around Kurapika; she was still standing on the rooftop, where she had seen the Spider disappear. A cold, salty breeze ruffled her bright hair, and she tasted the lightning-charged edge of an approaching storm.

She pulled out her cellphone, and switched it back on; one new message waited for her.

"_We're waiting for you in the D-Road garden! From: Gon and Killua."_

Her face was still too frozen to smile, but some of the burned out feeling left her. Chilled fingers tapped at the keys without actually depressing any as she thought. One call to make before she could join them. She flipped into her contacts list. The phone barely rang once before its owner picked up.

"Hello?"

"Senri."

"Kurapika!" the older woman sounded both anxious and relieved. "Are you alright? We had some trouble―"

"I'm alright."

There was a pause.

"You know I can hear it when you lie," Senri said quietly.

Kurapika smiled at that, a bit humorlessly. "Perhaps I should say, I think that I will be alright."

"Good." She could practically hear the other's brisk nod. "That's not as far from the truth."

"I―"

"No, don't force yourself to tell me either," Senri cut her off. "I can guess."

_You really have no idea,_ Kurapika thought with a flicker of loneliness.

"We lost Daltzorne last night," the other added quietly. "When you didn't report afterwards, we thought you might be dead too. If you come back in, Nostrad probably―"

"Not yet."

"It's understandable that you aren't ready to face it," Senri assured her. "Call me again when you reach the hotel."

"I called to thank you."

There was a short pause.

"You're welcome. And, Kurapika?"

"Yes?"

"Get some rest."

The music hunter hung up before Kurapika could come up with an answer that would satisfy her.

She hopped down from the roof to a back alley, stiffened muscles protesting even as she landed a bit heavily on her feet. Twenty-four hours without sleep had not improved her coordination or awareness. _I need to find a safe place to recover. Or rather … a relatively safe place, since nowhere is truly secure._ But with half the Spiders dead, she felt relieved enough to walk the city without scrutinizing every shadow.

_Half the Ryodan is dead, its head cut off – what will Hisoka do now that his target has been killed?_ She could not come up with a satisfactory answer to that one, but she was too tired to chase the thought to a rational conclusion anyway.

"_The answers you want died with Dancho."_

Kurapika did not look over her shoulder. No one waited there now.

Shaking it off, she set off for the garden that Gon and Killua had named as their meeting point. It was a famous tourist attraction, easy to locate even in the midst of the city; probably why they had chosen it, since she could make her way there without resorting to a map or the dowsing chain. She looked forward to seeing them and talking in person for the first time in months.

They waited for her by the southern entrance of the park, underneath the coppery branches of a eucalyptus tree. Gon and Killua were scarfing down an enormous pile of snacks in as messy a fashion as possible. Behind them, she could see the top of Leorio's dark head above a newspaper where he sat reading on a bench. A few daring pigeons were pecking at the dirt near his feet.

Some of the tightness in her chest loosened at the peaceful, familiar scene. Her steps slowed, unwilling to disturb it just yet. But then Gon spotted her and jumped up, spraying Killua with bits of food.

"Fuh-ah-pihka!" the boy shouted, through an overly full mouth.

He rushed up to her, shedding crumbs of what appeared to be an extremely unbalanced meal. By the time he reached her, however, he had finished chewing and lost the smile. Looking down into his serious face, she realized that she had no idea what to say.

"Gon."

"Finally!" he burst out before she found any other words. "Aren't you glad?"

_Glad?_

"The Spiders are all dead! You can finally do what you wanted to do!" His irrepressible grin returned, blinding as sunrise. "Concentrate on finding the eyes of your brothers in blood!"

_But they were—_

"We're going to help – mphff!" Gon's eager promise was cut off abruptly by the custard that Killua shoved into it.

Apparently, he had taken exception to be covered in crumbs of the other boy's food. Gon didn't seem to enjoy the experience either, though, because he turned and began to wrestle his friend to the ground. Watching them play, a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. She looked up to exchange a glance with Leorio, knowing they both shared the same thought: _idiots._

The tension in her heart finally eased to a point where she could breathe again.

_My hunt for the Spiders is over._ Strangely, that thought no longer rang as hollow as it had before. _I still have a purpose to fulfill. Nothing was lost, because there was nothing here for me in the first place._

And, on a bench in a public park, with Gon and Killua bickering in the background and Leorio reading the paper beside her, she was finally able to close her eyes in rest.

* * *

><p>Leorio knew that he was being foolish, but he just couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face.<p>

"It's going to rain soon. And it's past lunch time." Gon said, his hair sticky with dirt and sugar from the impromptu food fight. "Shouldn't we wake her up?"

"No, let her sleep," Leorio said, laying a protective hand on Kurapika's golden head.

Killua, the smug brat, gave him a knowing look.

So he might have a silly smile at the moment. He _might_ be enjoying the fact that the normally reserved and self-sufficient Kurata had unbent enough to sleep with her head on his shoulder. He might even have what could be called a mild thing for her. There wasn't anything wrong with that, was there? Surely not. She was attractive, and he was attracted to her. Perfectly natural.

Just because he knew better than to say anything yet, didn't mean that he couldn't be happy that in some small way she relied on him. Even if only in her sleep.

And beyond that, she was tired and troubled; he could diagnose fatigue as well as the next doctor-in-training. Though he couldn't fight her personal demons for her, he could at least make sure that she got a little rest. Especially if it meant that he got to enjoy the warm weight of her head on his shoulder and the feeling of her resting at his side.

Although Killua's smirk was an aggravating nuisance. Hah. Just wait until the brat found some girl that _he_ liked, and then he wouldn't be nearly so superior. Fortunately for their sanity, that day was probably a long ways off.

_Let's stay this way. _Leorio settled back to re-read the paper for yet another time._ Just a little longer._

* * *

><p>Kuroro rested his chin in his hands, expression neutral.<p>

The Spiders sat and sprawled across the gathered treasures around him – but he could sense the tension gathering like the storm outside. Even though it had been headed off, Nobunaga's lapse of insubordination threatened to spread.

_This is one of those times,_ he reflected inwardly, _that a lesser man would be sucked into a pointless struggle for control._ However, allowing himself to be challenged on an ordinary level meant admitting that he felt compelled to respond to such a challenge. It would show weakness. Kuroro had arguments much more convincing than mere force.

_We've already sent Ubo off in style. Let's not get dragged into a self-destructive cycle of petty revenge. Since it ends with us dead._

He rubbed at his mouth. That had been his first conclusion: strike the last auction early, take everything and vanish back into the shadows. They would leave before the next week began and his prediction came true … _Unfortunately, that is no longer a viable solution._

Kuroro had always found that a certain level of urgency and danger sharpened his mind. It was no exception now. The only solution to their predicament had come clear: before the end of the day, before more doubts threatened their coordination, the enemy must be eliminated. Especially since Nobunaga and Shizuku had both turned up predictions quite similar to his own.

For Nobunaga:

"**Part of the precious paper will be lost.  
><strong>**January, new and worrying, goes and continues going  
><strong>**to the reunion of those who have no place to return to  
><strong>**and those who desire it all  
><strong>**on the ground of red eyes stained with blood.**

**'Which of us has suffered more?'  
><strong>**the tombstones will read under the eclipse.  
><strong>**Pages of all the years past will be torn from the calendar  
><strong>**when the moth catching fire on its wings  
><strong>**will burn the spider in its web."**

And Shizuku: **August falls peaceful, together with the leaves at the reunion … 'Solitude is more frightening than darkness' the tombstones will read under the eclipse.**

The same ending for all of them. Kuroro knew with certainty that they were on the near edge of disaster. However, acting shaken or weak would further diminish their confidence. And the entire Ryodan needed to move as a cohesive unit in face of this threat. Suspicions and betrayal threatened not only the efficiency of the group, but its chances of survival as well.

Kuroro glanced over at Hisoka, who had settled back into his previous seat, putting away his cards in favor of balancing his cellphone on one finger. _Whatever he knows, we can't access the information from that angle_ … The revelation of Hisoka's dilemma was not only a tactical disadvantage, it was also a huge blow to group morale.

Originally, he had been content to slip away: the Spider disappearing into the night and avoiding the threat … forsaking personal vengeance on Ubo's killer in favor of the group's survival. But Hisoka's prediction proved that their nemesis would not be content to let things rest at that — an avenger himself, he would chase them all the way to Shooting Star.

"**The pilgrim with red eyes will visit you,  
><strong>**half angel, half god of death  
><strong>**as you lay the path to a different altar.  
><strong>**You will pave the way with secrets of the moons,  
><strong>**to the sorrow of November.**

**The legs of the Spider will grow homesick,  
><strong>**but the fiery moth flutters after wherever they run.  
><strong>**Pages of all the years past will be torn from the calendar:  
><strong>**your part of the precious paper will also be lost  
><strong>**at the reunion under the eclipse."**

The chain-user, whoever he was, had killed one Spider and captured another – twisting the magician into a weapon against his own compatriots. Kuroro's eyes narrowed, the faintest sign of his growing determination. _We need to settle this here, in York Shin._

"I'm going to predict the future for each of you," he decided. "We might find ways to avoid the threat."

"Aside from the tombstones and the spider, I don't get any of this," Nobunaga muttered.

"The month names correspond to our numbers in the Ryodan. I'm August, the eighth; and January is Nobunaga," Shizuku said promptly, as though it should have been obvious. "The calendar and the eclipse refer to our deaths, and the epitaphs probably hold personal meanings. As thieves, we might also be 'those who desire it all' – but I don't know about this 'red eyes' person."

_It's a riddle._ Kuroro pulled his own prediction out of his pocket and read it once again. _The format of mine is different. Because something has changed since last night?_ But Hisoka's was different as well.

_Right now, it is important to take decisive action._

Touchy as some of the Ryodan could be, open and deadly violence rarely entered into their quarrels. However, thanks to the chain-user hijacking Hisoka's knowledge and compromising his abilities, the entire brigade threatened to collapse in chaos. Not that they would … but for the first time, Kuroro recognized that they _could —_ not just theoretically, but in the real and present situation. It was an unpleasant realization.

As unpleasant as the moments when he had confronted the very real possibility that one of their number had sold them out.

Kuroro drummed on his skill-book with impatient fingers, thinking.

"Dancho," Shalnark stood before him. "Do we stay, or go?"

_No one should be able to compromise the integrity of the Spider._ He refused to see his Ryodan fall apart due to the manipulations of an unseen enemy.

"We stay."

* * *

><p>Evening rain pounded on the roof of the public auction house, streaking the skylights with glimmers of grey and silver. Kurapika resisted the urge to walk outside and let it drench her to the skin. The gesture had a good symbolism to it, but she really couldn't afford to make herself sick. Not with Leorio and Gon both watching her with such worried frowns, at any rate.<p>

_It's strange to know that someone else is concerned for my health._

"So, your quest for vengeance is over, then?" Leorio broke into her thoughts as the four of them strolled through the booths. "All the Spiders are dead."

"Actually," she said, knowing that prevarication on this point would prove futile, "Only six of the Ryodan were found dead last night."

"Ah! I knew that!" Gon chipped in happily.

"I figured," Kurapika muttered; only Killua seemed to hear her.

"What?" Leorio, it seemed, had not.

"With the death of their leader, I believe they won't prove a further threat."

She could think and talk about it calmly now.

"It's still dangerous for you, right?" Killua interrupted. "You're the chain-user they wanted to find."

"Yes," she admitted and, because it was true that they were already more involved than she wanted them, added, "I'm in contact with Hisoka, and he knows who I am. His goal was to fight their boss, but now that his target is dead … I have no idea in what direction he'll go."

Perhaps because he had terrorized them all so thoroughly during the Hunter exam, they accorded the clown's probable actions a special silence of horrified speculation.

"He's not likely to attack us," she reassured them. "At least, not any more than he was before."

"Hm, you're radiating something," Leorio said, peering into her face. "Self-assurance, maybe?"

"Oh?" She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but that had always been true; sometimes it was impossible to tell what the man really thought. "I don't feel that you've changed that much, though."

"Can't you see that I'm more upset than before?" Half-laughing, he put on a mock-frown. Then he sobered, staring into her face. "Hey, should you be wandering around without your contacts?"

A cold blade of alarm scraped down her spine.

"What?" She raised a reflexive hand to cover one eye. "I'm not wearing them?"

Leorio stepped in front of her, shielding her face from the sight of people passing by.

"No," he said tightly. "But your eyes have been brown all afternoon – until just now."

Peripherally, she sensed Gon and Killua both kicking into a higher degree of alertness as they picked up on her tension. _Calm down._ She dropped her hands to her sides, taking comfort in the ever-present chains wound around one where could she have left her contacts?

"The bathroom," she realized aloud. "I took them off after the auction last night and never put them back in."

"Do you have another pair?" Killua asked.

"Yes," she remembered with relief. "They're back at the motel." Taking stock of their worried expressions, she added, "It's unlikely that anyone will identify me by my natural eye-color."

_But I need to get back in disguise. Soon._ There were far too many body-collectors in York Shin.

"Don't worry about it," she added, uneasy with their obvious concern. "It's not too far away. I can be there and back in thirty minutes."

By tacit agreement, they turned their steps towards the nearest door.

"Could anyone have seen you?" Killua frowned at her, obviously disapproving of her lapse of caution.

Kurapika shook her head. "You were the first people I met with after last night."

_Was there anyone else…?_ She couldn't remember. Much of the previous night was a rush of light and sound and color – but she knew that she had instinctively avoided people. And no one could have seen her up on the roof where she had spent most of the time. _Alone with the ghosts of the past._ If the dead Spider was able to let go of his regrets, surely she could do the same. _Another painful thing I would rather forget._ Bitterness flashed through her, because she could not forgive.

Kurapika exerted conscious effort to keep her eyes brown, and nodded reassuringly at Gon and Leorio, who still looked upset.

_The Ryodan is paralyzed, the mafia in chaos, so I should be safe._

"Besides that, I heard that you defeated one of the Genei Ryodan," Killua turned the subject with an uncanny echo of her own thoughts and flashed his charming, killer's smile at her. "Even though you only just learned about nen, you took him out. How?"

"If the only reason you're asking me is because you want to capture the rest of the Spiders, I won't answer. What I say won't help."

In her memory, her teacher's voice echoed: _"I respect what you are trying to accomplish, but you must know it's impossible."_ Her stomach twisted with remembered pain.

"We want to increase our nen," Gon told her boldly, dragging her back to the present. "Of course, we want to capture the rest of the Ryodan too. But I think right now mastering nen is the top priority."

"That's what I thought. Forget it."

"But why?" Killua protested.

"Nen is a force very influenced by the psyche," explained Kurapika, hoping to lose them in a theoretical discussion. "The weight of the user's determination increases his power. Your own will is the most important factor in any battle."

"Will power … like fighting spirit?" asked Gon.

"Correct," Kurapika nodded, raising the chains around her hand. "That spirit determines your power, and the form of your abilities. The more you know about yourself, the better you can control and shape your nen."

She frowned, debating how much to say – it had to be enough to satisfy their curiosity, warn them about the dangers, and keep them from throwing themselves down the same path she traveled._ They don't need to seek out my kind of power. _

"High quality abilities contain a high risk: conditions to obey and prices that are owed. These things no one else can determine for you," Kurapika met their eyes seriously. "No one else can choose in your place. But if you misuse your nen, it can rebound on you or others — Consequences that can last even after death."

For a second she hesitated … then plunged ahead.

"Some cases that people attribute to ghosts or spiritual phenomena are actually the product of a dead person's nen."

_Sometimes, more than just nen lingers—_ she cut the thought short.

"Really?"

"Yes," she answered Gon. "Such occurrences, while rare, are known as 'death-curses' because the ideal focus for the lingering power is another source of nen … with strong emotional or spiritual links to the dead man. Regret, born of hatred or despair or some unfinished task. Of course, the strongest forms of regret often result in a 'curse' on whatever was responsible for those feelings. "

Very few humans had the power and the motivation – perhaps the innate aptitude or nature – necessary to generate a killing curse, though.

"Interesting," interjected Killua, in a voice that said he was bored. "But what about us? You can help us learn to use our own power more effectively."

"My own abilities share—"

In her pocket, the cellphone chirped at her.

"Excuse me a second."

"Kurapika?" Unexpectedly, it was Senri who had called her. "Sorry to bother you, but Mr. Nostrad wants to talk to you."

"When?"

"Now. He insisted that it was urgent. From what he said and the sound in his heart, I believe it."

_Is that all?_ It seemed so trivial – but she would have to deal with it. _Take responsibility for __getting involved with them._

"Kurapika?" Senri asked, recalling her to the present. "I take it you've heard the other news then."

"Heard what?" She dragged her reluctant mind away from grey thoughts. "If there's been any big changes, I've been … occupied."

"The mafia canceled the rewards on the rest of the thieves."

"What?"

"They autopsied the bodies from last night and found out that they were the Ryodan – and from Shooting Star City. Nobody, not even the godfathers, wants to mess with them anymore."

_Not that it matters now that they've been scattered._ But that was another dark thought, the kind that she didn't really want to have. She had never relied on the mafia to do anything effective against the Spider anyway.

"I see."

"Kurapika—"

"I know. I'll meet you at Neon's hotel, then."

She hung up without waiting for an answer, and watched people splashing through the rain outside.

"What was that about?" Leorio demanded as she flipped the phone back into her pocket.

"Business," she said shortly. "I'm technically allied with the Nostrad mafia family."

_For the moment._

"You work undercover in the mafia?" Gon asked. "Cool!"

"It's more of a pain than anything else." But she was able to smile for him. "Hopefully it won't take long to sort out. I'll pick up my contacts and call when I can."

"We'll stay in the area," Leorio promised, squeezing her shoulder before letting go.

Killua frowned, "And you're definitely going to finish telling us about nen."

"Hm," she replied, noncommittally.

"See you!" Gon called as she ventured out into the rain.

Briefly, she waved. They stood on the other side of the glass doors, but even through the barrier she could see that their smiles were strained. _They're worried. About me? I can take care of myself. And I can certainly deal with the Nostrads._ She glanced back one more time, but the pouring rain had erased their faces.

* * *

><p><em>There's definitely not enough money in this.<em> Machi worried at a loose thread, adjusting and readjusting her gloves.

She had always known that Hisoka was trouble. _And not just because he likes to irritate me with his sick attentions._ It didn't take a fortune-teller to see that the clown had been and would always be a threat. But she also knew, with disappointed certainty, that the chief would never allow her or Nobu to kill the magician without absolutely solid evidence against him; even then, he would want to finish things himself.

_Shit. My feelings about him get worse all the time. _Uneasy, Machi listened quietly as he worked to piece together the odds and ends of information that they had to work with.

"Given that Ubo first met the person we are assuming killed him, the chain-user, right on the outside of our territory, we should assume that our base may already be compromised," commented Kuroro. He lapsed back into thought, but he had already reminded Machi of something important.

"May I say something?" At his nod, she continued. "We must not forget that those kids also know of this place. It's true that in principle they have no connection with the one we're searching for, but I still don't like it."

"Kids?" Kuroro asked blankly.

"I forgot about that, Dancho!" Nobunaga jumped in enthusiastically, pulling the discussion off course. "I highly recommend them for the Ryodan!"

_How can he be thinking about that in this situation?_

"That's not why I brought it up!" Machi snapped, trying to keep the idiot from going on a complete tangent.

"A pair of boys tailed me and Machi yesterday," the swordsman continued obliviously. "Really impressive zetsu for their age!"

"They were hunting us for the reward money," Machi reminded him. "And they refused when you asked them. And besides that—"

"They escaped, too!" he rushed on, sounding proud of the fact that a couple of twelve-year-olds had given him the slip. "The black-haired one was just like Ubo! And the other one had some nice skills as well!"

Machi crossed her arms and glared. He had exactly three more seconds to shut up before she started to stitch his mouth closed. Kuroro caught her expression and nodded.

"It's true that they seem interesting, but it sounds like they don't want to join the Ryodan," he cut into Nobunaga's rhapsody.

"I'll convince them! And I can bring them here if you want to see."

And she could see in the chief's face that he was actually considering Nobunaga's insanity. Alarm bells rang in her head. _It's way too dangerous!_

"Dancho! We shouldn't do that!"

He looked back at her, inquiring, "What do you dislike about it?"

She faltered, unable to explain the source of her conviction that allowing those children free-run of their base would be _wrong_.

"Er … I don't really know."

"Intuition?"

She nodded, relieved that she didn't have to say that all she had to go on was a bad feeling.

"I know we can rely on it," Kuroro said with heart-warming faith in her instincts. "It's not impossible that these kids are important. Any team that encounters them should act in whatever way they deem necessary under the circumstances." He frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Still, just to be safe, we'll increase the number of copies of this building. Coltopi, can you make another ten?"

"I can do another fifty, no problem," the midget replied instantly.

The chief nodded and sent him out, with Nobunaga as a guard. _Maybe the rain will cool his moronic head,_ Machi hoped. But she knew that it wouldn't. The swordsman was far too willing to rush off in every direction, chasing his own enthusiasm. He and Ubo had worked well together, she believed, because the combined weight of their own stupidity was just too great for them to ignore if they wanted to survive.

And then Ubo had gone out alone – and he obviously wasn't coming back.

She followed Franklin and accepted her slip of paper back from Kuroro after he had written her future on it. Next in line, she could hear Pakunoda's report of her own personal data.

"What's it say?" Shal asked Machi.

The shrill ringing of Pakunoda's cellphone interrupted before the other Spider could begin. She grimaced, waving an apology as she took her prediction from Kuroro and moved away to answer the phone. Machi stepped out of the woman's path and turned back to the main action.

"What does your prediction say, Dancho?" Franklin asked.

"More of the same, but one passage is different." He read the last three lines to them, "_'If you would not be cast down as the stars thrown away by heaven, seek the thrice-cursed secrets entombed in the ground of red eyes stained with blood.' _It sounds as though there's a way out, but the newer predictions seem to indicate that it's disappearing."

"Do you think—" Shalnark started, but his question was cut off by Pakunoda.

"Dancho."

She had rejoined the half-circle.

"What is it?"

"That was Zenji," she said, her frown thoughtful.

"What did he want?"

"To offer me his condolences on your death and … a job."

Phinks made a suggestive noise. _Pig._ If Machi had been in range, she'd have hurt him. But she settled for a glare.

"Not that kind of job!" Pakunoda snapped. "For him to contact me after last night means that either he wants something badly enough to ignore what just happened, or he's planning a trap."

"Read your prediction first–" Kuroro decided, "–and we'll see what it says."

Machi watched as the other woman read her future, and the page rustled in her suddenly clenched hands.

"Paku?" Phinks asked, flicking a pebble at her. "Oi, Paku!"

Wordless, she handed it back to Kuroro for him to read aloud.

* * *

><p>Kuroro raised an eyebrow at Pakunoda's unexpected silence, but he read the prediction without comment.<p>

"**In one small room you will hold two choices,  
><strong>**balancing a blade with death on either side.  
><strong>**If you would choose life, you must accept everything:  
><strong>**'Let not one thing be lost' the mournful will pray  
><strong>**in remembrance of those forgotten.**

**Secrets and the division of memories  
><strong>**will betray you to friend and enemy alike.  
><strong>**An empty throne waits to be filled,  
><strong>**but you will hunt those who hunt the gods  
><strong>**across ocean and field.**

**To unbury the bones below the ground  
><strong>**of the red eyes stained with regret,  
><strong>**you must be prepared to race starvation's shadow  
><strong>**through the labyrinth of devouring  
><strong>**as the feasts of the harvest commence."**

A faint, cold smile tugged his lips. _Got you._ Three verses, for the three remaining weeks of the month, and no hint of the disastrous ending that threatened the others.

"Did the format just change?" wondered Shizuku, never afraid to ask the obvious. "What changed it?"

"Zenji's call," Kuroro said decisively. "The phone rang right before I started writing."

Pakunoda, surprisingly, looked away from him – her expression hidden behind pale, colorless hair. Kuroro wondered at the reaction, but chalked it up to dislike of Zenji. _Too bad, there's no getting out of dealing with him again._ With the answer in reach, his usual confidence and humor were returning – along with satisfaction at the thought of catching up to Ubo's killer. Soon, the chain-user would be out of their way for good.

"Feitan," commanded Kuroro, setting his sights on the nearest of the three remaining unknowns. "We'll tell your fortune next."

"I don't know my birthday," Feitan replied, hands in his pockets and face obscured by the scarf.

Coltopi nodded, "Me neither."

"And I don't know what my blood type is," Phinks put in.

Kuroro glared at that last one. "Excuse me?"

_That's just careless._ A faint smile quirked his mouth, even though they would not be able to check if the changes to Paku's fortune applied to the rest as well. Despite it all, Neon's predictions existed to help people escape the darkness looming in their futures. Even without the advantage of knowing _everything_ he was more than confident that the situation could be turned to their advantage. _We've been fighting the odds since day one, after all._

A spatter of rain from the broken skylights above gusted over him. The Spider curled his fingers into the warmth of the white fur lining his cuffs. Try as they might, neither the chain-user nor the weather would drive the Genei Ryodan out of York Shin before they were ready to leave.

"Dancho," Coltopi spoke up, such a rare occurrence during a meeting that everyone stopped to listen. "I don't know if this is relevant, but I meant to tell you last night – there was a weird nen-surge from one of the copied items just after the auction."

"Nen surge?"

"Like someone was … trying to destroy it or something," the midget's single visible eye blinked, expressionless. "Just for a second, but it felt really bad."

"Why didn't you say something?" Shalnark demanded. "That could be important!"

Coltopi shrugged, a rustling shift underneath his long hair. "It disappeared so quickly, I thought I might be imagining it."

Kuroro raised an eyebrow. "Which item?"

Coltopi thought it over, taking his time.

"The last one," he said finally. "The Scarlet Eyes."

_Interesting._ Kuroro glanced over the crates – though he couldn't tell which was the one they wanted. A faint mist curled up from the ground, long white fingers reaching around the edges of the tumbled collection. Something – an idea or a half-forgotten memory – teased at him. But it slipped away, as nebulous as the mist, when he tried to examine it.

"Red eyes in the predictions … could be the Scarlet Eyes," Phinks said from where he leaned on top of the crates.

"Yesterday," Machi spoke up suddenly, addressing Nobunaga. "You said that you thought the chain-user wasn't working with the mafia because he wants revenge on us for something."

"The Kurata clan?" Feitan asked, attentive now that they had a potential target. "So there were survivors."

Shalnark had his cellphone out, tapping excitedly against his palm. "And the person who bought the copied pair from the auction was …"

"Zenji," Kuroro finished, miles ahead of them and well into formulating a plan. "Paku, I think you'd better take him up on that job."

The Spider nodded, looking unusually grim.

* * *

><p>When he first noticed the sensation, Killua felt as edgy as a cat faced with a strange dog. But then he remembered that this was <em>Kurapika<em> he faced, and he calmed down enough to hope that he could learn from her. She gave off the same quiet, suppressed and lethal aura that Killua had picked up on in the Spiders. A similar impression emanated from his older brother Illumi.

He wanted to know whatever it was that they knew.

Then she had broken off her explanation of nen and abandoned them for her job. Leorio complained about it, but Killua understood; he had shouldered enough responsibilities in the line of family duty and work himself. Besides, he knew the real reason that Leorio was being so sensitive.

He shot another sidelong glance at his friend. Sure enough – he still wore that mooning expression he had whenever Kurapika ignored him for something more important. Killua snickered.

"Stop it," Leorio demanded, scowling. "Your face offends me."

"Eh?" Gon said, staring confused between them. "But that's how Killua always looks!"

After a brief tussle, just to prove that he wouldn't stand for that kind of disrespect, Killua got back to what was really important.

"Where are we with the auction money?" he asked. "What did Zepairu say?"

Leorio gave them a small salute. "We made three-hundred and fifty-five million on the chest!"

_We're falling short._

He turned schemes over as they ate dinner. Even if the Kurata wanted to focus on finding the Eyes of her clan before chasing down the Spiders, she could probably be convinced to arrest them while they were so close. From there, it would be a simple matter of using Gon's earnest sincerity, and a little of Killua's own good sense, to get her to spill what she knew about the group.

_Besides, the Spiders are a threat to her survival._ Killua knew that nothing was more motivating than your own personal safety – and the safety of your friends.

He cuffed Gon absently on the back of the head, just because he could, though it was more a sign of affection than anything else.

_I could get used to living like this._

* * *

><p>Kuroro tapped his fingers against the his skill-book, trying to hold onto whatever it was that eluded his notice. <em>Something's not right.<em> He'd overlooked something, some vital clue to the chain-user's identity or actions … something that would explain the inconsistencies of the enemy's actions. _Strong enough to defeat Ubo, smart enough to get away — So why the conspicuous absence last night? _The entire Ryodan had run around in the open, splintered into small groups and practically lit up the sky with an invitation to fight.

"What are the epitaphs on the tombstones again?" he asked Shizuku and Nobunaga.

The swordsman looked down and read, "_Which of us has suffered more_?"

"Mine is: _solitude is more frightening than darkness_," Shizuku added.

"Do they mean anything particular to you?"

"Not really," Nobunaga crumpled the paper. "Damn."

"Paku had a similar line," Bonorolf offered. "_Let not one thing be lost_."

"Maybe it's how they'll feel about their deaths?" Shalnark suggested.

"I'm going to die in pain and Shizuku's going to die alone and Paku's going to die … er, lost?" Nobunaga snorted. "If we all get it during this eclipse thing, then at least Shizuku's doesn't work. And I'm sure Paku will come back here before next week."

"Next week starts tomorrow," Franklin pointed out.

"Technically," Shalnark corrected him, "it starts tonight at midnight. Which isn't too far away."

"What if it's how the killer feels about our deaths?" Shizuku asked. "We can't write our own epitaphs if we're dead."

No one knew quite what to do with that.

There were a lot of people who wanted the Spider eliminated, for various reasons, Kuroro reflected. He could understand the desire to honor the dead. Respect it, even. Not that it stopped him from killing.

"Revenge, huh," Franklin rumbled. "What a thing to throw so many years of your life away on."

"_How the killer feels … we can't write our own epitaphs."_ Shizuku's words from moments before echoed back to Kuroro. And then Coltopi's voice joined hers. _"Like someone was trying to destroy them."_

His hand ceased its rhythm on the book cover.

At that, the entire pattern that had been eluding him sudden took shape in his mind. The whole structure of their enemy's movements rose up around him – crystallizing as he recognized details that had seemed insignificant and now took on a new meaning. He rubbed his chin in his hand, sitting down suddenly to think.

"Shizuku, Coltopi," he said absently, once he had a firm enough grasp on the big picture to speak again. "Congratulations."

_Because of course a survivor who wanted revenge would also want to reclaim the eyes of his clan._ That was the motivating factor he had failed to consider.

"I was stupid," he admitted aloud.

_Damn — why? _ He had blithely assumed that the chain-user would be single-mindedly obsessed with finding the Ryodan to the exclusion of all else … _How self-centered of me._ A hard smile stole across his mouth.

"Why didn't he attack last night? If I had thought of it earlier, we could have tracked him down much more easily." He looked up and the smile turned to a grin. "The mafia's underground auction is famous for trafficking all sorts of illegal goods ― contraband, stolen antiquities, and parts of human bodies."

"Parts of – oh!" Shalnark was the first to catch on. "The Scarlet Eyes!"

"Yes. Our target has two objectives: getting revenge and getting the Eyes."

And now they knew which was more important.

"Shalnark, who besides Zenji bid on them? Anyone who seemed particularly eager?"

"Hm," Shalnark scratched his head. "There was a pretty intense bidding war between just two customers at the end, since they were the last piece and all and I remember …"

"What?" Machi snapped, impatient.

"Nope, I forget."

"What, are you Shizuku now?" Bonorolf grumbled.

Kuroro listened to the Spiders speculating in the background, filling in the gaps in the predictions that they brushed over. It was true that "red eyes stained with blood" appeared over and over again in the predictions … and from what he remembered, the Kurata had been a tough fight … so a survivor who had spent the last four years planning would probably have a good chance at taking out Ubo.

And the rest of the Ryodan, evidently.

"We need to move quickly," he concluded. "But never alone. We'll break into four teams; two teams will go hunting, two will stay here to see if the enemy comes to us."

He leapt to his feet on the stairs.

"Paku, Phinks, Feitan. Your group, as well as another team consisting of Coltopi, Bonorolf, and Machi, will track down Zenji. If he doesn't have the copied pair of eyes with him, go after them next. Nobu, Hisoka, and Franklin. You three will stay here with me and my team of Shalnark and Shizuku."

"I'd like to go hunting," Nobunaga said, with blockheaded stubbornness.

For a moment, Kuroro just studied him. But the expression on the other man's face was calmer now, and his request was no longer an unreasonable demand. _Besides, one group is just as likely to find the chain-user as the other._ They had gathered all the information they could from the predictions … without anything else, it would be difficult to put together an accurate picture of the enemy's likely movements.

"Dancho. Please."

"Alright," Kuroro agreed. "Switch places with Machi."

_Can we all die at the same time if we're not in the same place?_ Kuroro shrugged off the thought. In just a few minutes, they could begin their hunt and eradicate the threat.

* * *

><p>A taxi would have been faster, but Kurapika took the subway to the Nostrad's hotel in order to give herself some extra time to think.<p>

On the subject of nen, Leorio would be easier to discourage than Gon and Killua; the two boys seemed dead set on chasing their own destruction. _Isn't that what you're doing?_ a little voice in the back of her head whispered. She scuffed a foot along the rubber treads of the subway car. _It's not the same._ Gon and Killua were free and should enjoy that freedom. _They don't need the kind of power I have._ The chains clinked around her hand as she frowned at them.

_Not the same at all._

By the time she reached the hotel, her tentative relief had washed away with the rain. She climbed the stairs and strode determinedly down the hall. Whatever was going on with the mafia, she knew herself to be capable of handling it. She raised her hand to knock.

"Please come in," Senri called through the door. "It's unlocked."

Kurapika turned the handle and crossed over the threshold.

"Mr. Nostrad left to pick his daughter up from the hospital," Senri explained, the door clicking shut as she spoke. "It appears that Miss Neon could not wait until after your meeting. They should return momentarily…"

But Kurapika was not listening. Her gaze had already been drawn to the far side of the room. The fake Eyes were standing on a table across from the door. Her reflection wavered, super-imposed over them, in the glass of their container. _Dead and dust and false. _For a bleak second, Kurapika could see and think and feel nothing but the vast, lonely emptiness of being the last, the only survivor—

"Zenji – I heard you had a run-in with him – left those here." Senritsu said, deliberately breaking into her thoughts.

Kurapika looked down to find the other woman's gaze solemn and serious on her face.

"He accused Nostrad of sending you to steal them." She frowned. "He got so intent on the subject that I believe he has followed Nostrad all the way to the hospital. I don't even think he realized he was leaving his treasure behind."

In one corner, a grandfather clock clicked through the seconds of a long silence.

"These Red Eyes," Senritsu said finally. "Why do they draw such a sound from your heart?"

Kurapika bit her lip, and tasted blood as she answered.

"I … am a member of the Kurata clan. Our eyes turn from brown to red when something excites our emotions. That color became one of the seven wonders of the world, and it remains after death. I'm searching for the eyes stolen from the bodies of my kin. So I can lay them to rest, no matter what it takes. That's why I turned down this job the first time. That's why I'm hunting the Genei Ryodan."

"And why you attempted to take these from Zenji."

"I succeeded," Kurapika's lips curled into a humorless smile. "And returned them. They're fakes."

Senri drew back a little, probably from the melody in her heart.

The Kurata sat down on one arm of a couch beside the door. "Are you going to report this to your body-collecting boss?"

"I don't want to be killed here." Unexpectedly, Senritsu chuckled and sat down on the couch beside her. "Heartbeats never lie. You might be confessing a secret, but you don't care what you have to do next to keep it."

"I would … prefer not to fight you." Kurapika offered, hesitant. "I owe you quite a lot."

Senritsu smiled. "One day, I might just call in that favor." Then she sobered, her expression turned contemplative. "So, I'm sitting next to one of the seven wonders of the world."

"There are more pairs of the Eyes left than you might think," replied Kurapika. "But I am the last Kurata living."

"Do you―" the melody-hunter stopped in the middle of her question.

_What?_ Kurapika glanced over at her curiously.

"Sh!" She held up her hand to forestall Kurapika's question. "Quiet!"

The small woman slid off the couch, closing her eyes and putting hands up to cup her ears.

"Six nen-users just entered the lobby." She sounded afraid. "I can't detect their auras, but I can hear it in their hearts."

_Too many to be the Ryodan,_ Kurapika concluded, with a flicker of disappointed hatred.

"Who do you think they are?" she asked, leaping lightly to her feet. "Are they here for Nostrad?"

"At least one woman," the melody-hunter continued to murmur to herself. "I can't hear what they're saying, but … they just split up. Three taking the stairs, three in the elevator." She crossed to her flute case and removed the instrument. "They're headed this way."

"Want to call in that favor?" Kurapika offered. "I'll fight beside you."

_Although, a group of strong opponents with no connection to the Red Eyes will mean fighting with my weakest abilities._ It could be dangerous. Her mouth curved into a half-smile. _I won't stop for considerations like that if they threaten the life of one of my comrades._ To her surprise, Senritsu had made the jump into that category sometime over the last few days.

_It doesn't matter how ― I don't want to lose another friend._


	10. Hunter's Moon

_Here's the latest chapter! Unfortunately, I'm about to travel for the holidays and my internet access will be pretty much non-existent for about a week. Updates will resume either next Tuesday or Friday._

_As always, thank you everyone who reviews! The support is awesome!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>: Hunter's Moon

Pakunoda strode into the luxurious hotel, her heels tapping over the warm, creamy marble of the floor. A small trail of water droplets marked her progress. Phinks and Bonorolf, making no effort to appear normal, tailed in after her at a discreet distance. When no one came to greet her, however, they split away to question the hotel employees. Paku, meanwhile, paced and fretted.

Zenji had called for her to meet him here, in this hotel … fortunately, _not_ for the sort of job that Phinks had implied. Instead, it seemed that the man wanted her to help him take down a rival family and steal some sort of valuable treasure from them. _'Priceless.'_ That had been his word. _And all that fat pig would say was that I'd get the details when we speak face-to-face. He's far too trusting._ Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed robbing him blind.

Today, however, she had much more important things to do than trouble herself with Zenji's paltry schemes for the 'once-in-a-lifetime treasure' he'd been babbling on about.

"Paku?" a familiar voice interrupted her before she could make the call.

Surprised, tense, she whirled to find Coltopi's team staring at her from the door of the lobby.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, sharper than intended.

"Coltopi says that his copies are in the building." Nobunaga frowned. "You?"

"Zenji said to meet here. But he hasn't shown."

"Not likely to, either," Phinks said, as he and Bonorolf joined them. He jerked his head back at the receptionist's desk; the girl sitting there gave him a dirty look, and then proceeded to act as though they were invisible. "They say he doesn't have a room."

Pakunoda shook her head, anxiety welling up in her anew. _He's the one who bought the Scarlet Eyes!_ He had to want her help with _something_ involving this place.

"It's a lie." Coltopi's single, round eye regarded them expressionlessly. "What we want is here."

"Where?"

The midget raised one hand, glowing with nen, and pointed up. "Fourth floor."

"Teams of two," Paku ordered, taking a page from Kuroro's book. "Whoever it is, we'll form a net and catch them."

_And launch a full interrogation._ Her shoes clicked across the marble lobby. _I don't have time to waste on half-answers!_

"Hey, who died and made you Dancho?" demanded Phinks, catching up.

Her glare skewered him.

"Fine, fine." He held up his hands and backed off. "But I get to break down the door!"

"Flip for it," Nobunaga put in.

"No. I called it first."

"The rules—"

"Shut up!" Pakunoda's bark cut across their bickering. Surprised, they all stared at her. "Bonorolf, Feitan: you cover the outside windows and exits. Nobunaga, Coltopi, take the elevator. Phinks, you're with me."

"But—"

"_Go._"

They went.

Minutes later, she and Phinks reached the fourth-floor hallway, proving that the stairs were indeed faster than the elevator. Her partner was in favor of charging ahead, but she won the coin toss that held them back. _Whatever is waiting for us in that hotel room, we should move as a unit._ By the chief's orders, they were not to kill the chain-user – _if_ they found him here – and Pakunoda intended to see that those orders were followed.

_Even when I dislike them._

A deceptively gentle tone marked that the elevator had arrived at the other end of the hall.

Nobunaga and Coltopi waved silently from across the distance. Satisfied, Pakunoda tapped her nails against her palm ― by the time their prey could sense the approaching auras, there would be no easy escape from the Nostrad's hotel suite.

Guided by his nen, Coltopi pointed to a door.

Pakunoda held up a hand, and when it flicked down, the Spiders dashed forward to converge on the barrier that blocked them from their target.

They came to a neatly executed halt right before the destination, long practice enabling them to fall into natural formation with Phinks and Nobu in front while Pakunoda and Coltopi offered support from the wings.

"Ready," Nobu whispered, his En circle spreading out around him to seep through the walls ― an ability that allowed him to detect any living movement within the radius it embraced.

"No one." He reported at a jarring, regular volume, eyes opening. "There's no one inside." He whirled and kicked the wall in a sudden burst of anger. _"Dammit!"_

"Back away from the door," Pakunoda ordered, not really waiting for the others to obey.

She reached out and grasped the handle – taking in the most recent memory attached to the object.

_Cold, rain-spattered fingers. Slender hand – a woman or a very young man. A rattle of chains and the pressure of nen._ Pakunoda opened the memory of someone else's eyes and looked through the door to see the Red Eyes staring back. _The last of the Kurata._

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Kurapika asked, standing and dripping rainwater on the subway platform beside Senritsu.<p>

They had slipped out of the hotel just ahead of their hunters, breaking into the suite of rooms across the hall and exiting on the far side of the building from the men guarding the streets below. Kurapika had been in favor of staying there and investigating, but Senri's objection convinced her to abandon confrontation.

It was, anyway, a mafia dispute and therefore none of her business.

"I'll be fine," the melody-hunter nodded, wringing rain-water out of her intensely colored hair. "It's more important to warn the others than to protect Neon's baggage. Since the Eyes are fake, and they belong to Zenji, it doesn't matter if we leave them behind. I contacted Scuwala and Bashou, so they'll keep Mr. Nostrad and his daughter at the hospital."

"What are you going to do about Zenji?"

"I barely made out his name at that distance, so it's possible that I misheard what the men outside said. But his grudge against Nostrad springs from a malignant, persistent type of envy. If he really intends our group harm," Senri clutched her flute-case a little tighter. "I'll know when I hear him next."

"At any rate," observed Kurapika, "I suggest you get Neon and her father out of York Shin. Even with the Ryodan collapsed, it's still a dangerous place."

Senri smiled, "Thank you."

_I should be leaving myself, now that there are no more meaningful targets to pursue._ The next-closest pair of Red Eyes was only a few days away by train … less by airship, if she wanted to pay a higher fee. She should start making travel arrangements before the end of the day.

The subway rushed to a halt before them, a screech of wind and blur of graffiti splashed metal. A musical note and they were suddenly surrounded by disembarking passengers. Kurapika kept a wary eye on all of them, but none seemed to pay the two nen-users any special attention.

"Goodbye, Kurapika," Senritsu said, stepping aboard.

"Be careful."

The doors slid shut between them.

Kurapika waved once, and turned to climb the stairs back to the surface quickly. Enclosed spaces bothered her. The suffocating pressure of earth over her head was reminiscent of too many familiar, childish terrors. _Buried alive._ She shivered and reached the rainy street gratefully.

As a precaution, the Kurata detoured to pick up a disguise. _I don't want to get caught up in a mafia dispute, and too many of them know I'm a contractor for the Nostrads._ While she couldn't afford to waste time looking for the right kind of contacts or returning to her motel, a pair of large, dark glasses would work for the moment. A black sweater and pants and cap, and a brown wig to disguise her hair – she changed in the store and carried her tribal clothes out in the shopping bag.

That done, she faced the question of what her immediate move should be.

_I could meet up with Killua and Gon and Leorio to say goodbye – but that would put them in danger as well._ However, unless she did something to betray her true identity, she doubted that Zenji had the information network to track down her companions. Gon and Killua both seemed to be ready to handle ordinary nen-users as well, since they had escaped from the Ryodan without being seriously injured.

_Don't overestimate them,_ she cautioned herself. _Escaping once could have been a question of luck._ But, she realized with hopeless alarm, she wanted them to be able to fight with her. She wanted to have living comrades to fight for again.

"_It doesn't matter if you consider us to be capable of standing before them! We're involved no matter what!"_ Killua's memory shouted at her.

She couldn't ignore the truth in his words.

The three of them should still be in the public auction complex. Kurapika consulted her mental map, and adjusted her path accordingly. She opted to walk despite the rain. By the time she reached the building where she had left them, she was as soaked as she had been before changing clothes.

Fortunately, it seemed they had waited for her.

"Kurapika?" Gon asked cautiously when she walked over to the cluster of couches and chairs that they had staked out.

"Sorry to make you wait," she said, trying to find a chair that she wouldn't totally ruin with all the rain water; in the end, she gave up and sat beside Gon on a couch. The greyscale of his expression changed, transformed as she removed the tinted glasses.

"We just got back from dinner ourselves," he smiled, as though her unexpected appearance were completely natural.

"Have you been fighting?" Killua broke in suddenly. "Why are you in disguise?"

"Work trouble," she said dismissively. "I wasn't able to make it to the motel, so I picked up something less conspicuous."

"The Ryodan?" Leorio scowled at her, as though he'd been disappointed.

"No – it's a mafia dispute." She shrugged, anxious stop talking about it. "Family politics."

"Should you have come back here?" Killua glanced around, to spot any hidden pursuers.

"It's troublesome, but not too serious."

_Zenji may be a bigger problem than I anticipated, _she had to admit to herself. _But I won't let someone as petty as that interfere with my plans._ _Though he's really more of a problem for the Nostrads, so it can be assumed that Nostrad Senior will take care of him without my direct involvement._

"About the Spiders—" Killua started.

"The reward for the remaining members has been canceled," she cut him off. "The mafia found out who they are and where they come from."

The Zaoldyek subsided immediately. _I knew you were after the bounty money,_ Kurapika thought in his direction, a little relieved that he gave up so easily. But that still left the bigger problem.

"Why did they stop offering rewards?" asked Gon, curious.

"The Spider comes from Shooting Star City," she clarified, and heard both Leorio and Killua draw breath in comprehension. But Gon still looked confused, so she gave a brief summary of the implications. "It's an area once segregated by a dictator for undesirable people. He died and his state fell apart, but the city itself remains standing: outside the bounds of global society and politics, a place where anything can be thrown away."

"Objects, bodies, babies … anything can be dumped in Shooting Star," Leorio nodded. "Because of several violent incidents, it exists completely off the grid of international politics. No one touches them and they touch no one. The inhabitants have neither official identities nor an official country. They salvage what gets thrown away, and survive."

"The mafia used to supply them with weapons," Kurapika picked up the explanation again. "And the city provided them with faceless employees with unusual talents and resources, people who could commit any crime and disappear without a trace … Relations between the two groups probably would have become tighter if the Ryodan hadn't tipped the balance."

"How did they do that?" Gon asked eagerly, his fascination obvious.

"I'm not too clear," she had to admit. "Somehow they managed to change the power dynamic in favor of Shooting Star, but no one in the mafia will talk about how or why. A lot of people seem just not to know what exactly happened, so I assume the information is confined to the highest levels."

She had only come across it because her search for data on the thieves who stole her clan's Eyes had been remarkably tenacious.

"That means it's either embarrassing or dangerous for the mafia," Killua observed.

"Indeed." Her chin dropped into her hand and she chewed on her lower lip. "An abnormal place, with the Ryodan being its most abnormal offspring."

"We still want to arrest them!" announced Gon. "No matter where they come from."

"With their head crushed," Kurapika told him, "I think they will have scattered from York Shin by now."

Killua relaxed the tiniest fraction at that, and Leorio also seemed to let out a relieved breath. He smiled when he saw her looking, and she gave him a small, preoccupied smile in return. Beside her, however, Gon was wearing his stubborn expression.

"But—"

"Nevermind that," Killua broke in. "Tell us about nen."

"You already know the basics," she shrugged. "As for the development of your personal hatsu abilities … my experience is worthless."

"Eh! Why?" demanded Gon, already distracted from the previous topic.

She traced a finger across the coffee table, seizing upon one of the reasons that betrayed none of her more dangerous secrets.

"We're not from the same nen type."

"What else?" Leorio asked, his voice quiet with unexpected maturity.

Kurapika looked up from her contemplation of the wood grains to find all three of them staring back at her, faces revealing various levels of insight.

"You're not lying, but you don't want to talk," Gon informed her matter-of-factly. "So you're just trying to avoid the subject. It's obvious."

Coming from Gon, that made her wince.

Because she would not lie, she could only try to keep her answers general to the point of uselessness. _But they know me,_ she felt a touch of wonder – something she had thought long dead from within her. _I have people who know me again._ After the death of the clan, she had not thought to build real personal connections. _Not replacements, but … new friends._ This time, she had to protect them with more than her life.

"The kind of nen skills I've created really aren't suitable for you, even in principle."

"Why?" Killua persisted.

"They exist only for the sake of the dead." Her head lowered, to hide her eyes – though she knew that they remained an unremarkable brown. "You remember what I said about curses?"

"Scary, but strong." Gon's face lit up, with a hint of the shaking excitement that sometimes made her fear for him. "They like to attach to other strong people, who are connected by unfinished feelings."

Kurapika frowned. "Essentially correct. But they are also terrible, destructive things. Unlike the auras of the living, the nen of a dead man is … unsustainable on its own. It is compelled to seek out a life source. It kills by attaching itself to the aura of another's body and — subverting it. Those that survive the shock of such an attachment will grow progressively weaker, ultimately consumed by the corruption of the curse."

_There are those who can purify such evil._ Kurapika shook her head, her earring swinging brightly. _But not many._ To commune directly with the dead was even more rare than having a dead person there with whom to commune.

"I … because of the way that the clan died …" Her thoughts terminated abruptly and she had to start over. "My own abilities have more in common with those of the dead, rather than those of the living." She shook her head, her voice low and grave. "Violating a nen-contract usually results in loss of nen, or control of your aura. Should I disobey my own precepts, however, the chain wrapped around my heart kills me instantly."

"What!" Leorio had a miniature convulsion in his seat.

"Like I said–" she raised her voice to cut off his looming protestations, "–the higher the risk, the more powerful the ability. The conditions and punishments I chose were dictated as much by necessity, as my own preference."

_Because I would rather be dead, than live with failure. _All three of them were staring at her like they didn't believe it, so she opted to distract the most difficult of her listeners.

"Circumstances beyond your control can be a powerful force, depending on whether or not you rise to meet them. Killua, for instance, you already have a partial ability."

"I do?" The Zaoldyek blinked, torn between accepting what she said as a matter of pride … and confusion because he had no clue what she was talking about.

"No fair!" Gon bounced up and down on the couch. "What is it?"

"That technique, for changing your hand when you execute a powerful strike – it's a family secret, right?" She knew the answer would be affirmative. "Producing physical alterations like that can be a form of latent nen. Some skills are hereditary, or passed down through ancestral traditions."

Her fingers smoothed across the chains at her wrist. _Through the blood._ Fortunately, none of them thought to ask the obvious question.

"Cool," breathed Gon, staring at his friend as though newly impressed.

"Lucky, Killua!" Leorio agreed, clapping the boy on the back. "Aren't you glad you were born an assassin?"

Their words faded out of her awareness. Kurapika had never before felt grateful that none of her friends possessed the same kind of academic interest in anthropology and ancient cultures as she did. _No, it's not just academic._ The Kurata clan had possessed its own secrets – and taken them to the grave.

"What about me?" Gon demanded. "Can I be like Killua?"

"You have your own goals." She smiled at their enthusiastic expressions. "Choose abilities that will enable you to pursue them."

However, she must not have been able to keep all the bitterness out of her own face.

"What are you pursuing, now that the Ryodan is dead?" asked Leorio, unaccountably gentle.

Killua snorted, "The Red Eyes, stupid."

He was right. _I want the same thing as always: an end to the mortification of the Kurata tribe._ But that thought failed to lift her up. _An end to our suffering in hell._ She had thought to drag the Ryodan down, to twist the knife of vengeance in and let their blood wash away the red staining her own eyes. Chaining them and releasing her comrades from regret. But then—

Then the dead Spider had done something unthinkable, and reversed his fate. Her hatred, the remorse she unwillingly felt for bringing his life to an end … all of that was meaningless now. She was left confused and lost in the darkness again. Without even an enemy to pit herself against.

"_I've seen unhappy people before." _His understanding mocked her.

She shifted, uncomfortable with her own memories.

"Kurapika—" Gon started to say.

Once again, the ringing of her phone intruded. Kurapika picked it up. One text was waiting. Across the screen, Hisoka's number blazed like a warning sign. She opened his message.

"_**The corpses were fake."**_

Lightning and thunder slashed across the sky outside as the full fury of the storm broke over York Shin.

"Kurapika?" Leorio asked, his voice rising in pitch. "Hey! What's wrong?"

* * *

><p>Kuroro reached the end of his thoughts. Evening was falling almost imperceptibly, the sunset obscured by clouds. He sat, waiting, brief flashes of lightning at once revealing the room and blinding him in the dark that followed. Candles guttered and smoked in the damp air.<p>

Discovering the chain-user's identity as a Kurata was an enormous advantage. But time was flying to midnight and, if he was correct, the chain-user should even now be headed for their base. The epitaphs in the predictions disturbed him, though, running through his head and teasing him with their hints and intimations of mystery ― like part of a story without context. He had scrawled them down on a loose piece of paper, but staring at it was getting him nowhere.

Machi: _Who is left to pay the chosen price?  
><em>Shalnark: _At the last hour, no one answered.  
><em>Nobunaga: _Which of us has suffered more?  
><em>Franklin: _These scars remain unhealed in death.  
><em>Bonorolf: _Our ancient prayers cease, unspoken.  
><em>Shizuku: _Solitude is more frightening than darkness.  
><em>Pakunoda: _Let not one thing be lost._

None of the other fortunes had matched Paku's, which probably meant that she was the only one who could change next week's outcome. He hoped she was having more success on her end.

Kuroro knew that his instincts were beginning to interfere with his ability to plan, and that meant it was time to stop thinking and wait patiently for the prey to enter the web.

And still, the hunter teams did not report back.

"Dancho?" Shalnark asked, the only one willing to break the silence. "The auction starts soon."

"We wait."

A cold wind hissed through the abandoned hotel, carrying rain and the salt scent of the sea in through cracked windows and shattered skylights. Kuroro curled his fingers into the fur-lined sleeves of his coat. Water streaked the pillars around them, reflecting candlelight. The Ryodan sat at deceptive ease amidst the slow decay. From a makeshift platform of broken columns like an altar in the center of the room, the Scarlet Eyes glared with sullen fire.

Mist prowled through the columns, a gathering haze of white.

* * *

><p>Kurapika made it to her feet and all the way out of the room before she realized that she had no idea where she was going … and that Leorio was tugging on her arm.<p>

"Hey!" he yelled. "I'm talking to you!"

She perceived his words, but the sense of them escaped her. _Where am I going?_ The fact that she had no answer to that question was what ultimately pulled her to a stop.

"Hisoka?" Killua asked quietly from just behind her.

"Yes." Anger trembled in her hands. "He said the corpses were fake."

_Fake._ Something terrible and empty that she had left behind last night surged up again. _I should never have doubted my instincts._

"One of them must have the ability to do that," she added, thinking furiously. "Materialization nen. Damn. Damn, why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Her own gullibility shocked her. _Why didn't I realize that I couldn't trust a dead Spider? _The giant had lied, to spite her one last time in his death. _Sacrificing himself for his comrades —_ How she hated him for that strength. It wasn't right. The blood of her clan cried out against it.

_I should have believed myself first._ She had _seen_ the phantom possessing the corpse – the _fake_ corpse – and dismissed it as nothing more than a lingering shadow. An echo across the border of death. _Stupid. Stupid and blind and now I'll pay for it ten times over._

"What are we going to do now?" Leorio kept his hand on her arm and turned her around to face them. "The situation has completely changed!"

_The Ryodan survives intact, but— _

"We want to help," Gon declared.

Her revenge wasn't worth their lives. But there was more at stake than that.

"There's one thing I need to check first," she finally said. "I need a map of the whole city."

Her own was back at her motel ― the place she should have gone to first, as soon as she recognized the other pair of Eyes as fakes. She should have gone to the map and checked again, confirmed the absence of Scarlet Eyes in York Shin. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ How could she have been so disastrously short-sighted?

"I have one in the rental car," offered Leorio, not even bothering to ask what she could want with it.

"Right." The chains rattled around her wrist. "Lead the way."

"We'll wait for you here," Killua said.

"Right," she said again, barely conscious of their presences receding behind her as she followed Leorio away.

Through her head ran calculations and plans and probabilities. _Everything is still here._ If she wanted to achieve anything, she would have to act before the Spider left York Shin after the final auction. _I have to end this tonight._ That meant starting at the beginning, confirming her suspicions, and locating her objective. All movement required caution now.

* * *

><p>Killua watched Leorio and Kurapika hurry away, and he didn't even have to look over at Gon to know what he was thinking.<p>

"No."

"Eh? Why?" his friend objected. "You liked the idea earlier!"

Sometimes Gon could be such an idiot.

"Without the reward, capturing the Ryodan is meaningless," Killua explained, with what he considered a credible attempt at patience. "Have you forgotten our goal?"

"Greed Island." Gon nodded firmly, proving that he _could _keep two thoughts in his head at one time. "But even without the reward, capturing them isn't pointless!"

In Killua's opinion, high risk and high reward jobs were separated from high risk, low reward jobs by the gulf of intelligence. A smart hunter could assess the pay off versus the danger – but Gon did not seem to have mastered that fine art. Well, it just proved that Killua needed to be the voice of sanity here … again. Throwing themselves away on Kurapika's crazy crusade would do nothing to help anyone.

"The Southern Peace auction starts tomorrow," he pointed out, taking the most logical argument. "We need to be busy gathering money before the three days are over."

But he had no idea how it would be possible to make enough, now that they could no longer rely on the Ryodan's bounties to bolster their funds.

"About the game, I have a secret plan!" Gon grinned, tugging Killua over to a corner of the room and whispering.

Alarm bells went off in his head.

"What is it?" he asked doubtfully.

"A secret!"

"Argh!" Really, his brain was going to _explode_. "Don't play games!"

Gon shook his head, pleading, "Just believe me about Greed Island, and let's chase the Ryodan a little longer."

"Are you sure you really have a plan?"

It would be just like him to say that he did, and then admit later that it was nothing better than 'earn more money.'

"Yeah. Dunno if it'll succeed …" Gon trailed off, uncertain.

"How sure are you it'll work?" At the other boy's shrug, Killua demanded, "What percent?"

"Um, maybe seventy percent?"

"Seventy!" he tried to keep his voice from breaking on the shout; Gon had absolutely no head for numbers.

"Er … okay, sixty," his friend confessed.

Killua eyed him narrowly. Despite the fact that he straightened up and tried to look reliable, Gon definitely did not exude an aura of confidence. _Roughly fifty-fifty, then._

"Six billion in two days," he tilted his head to examine Gon – who nodded enthusiastically. "And we can waste time hunting, _if_ it's possible, the Ryodan."

Gon nodded again.

Killua sighed.

Knowing Kurapika, he was certain that she would refuse their help once more. _Well, almost certain_ … The Zaoldyek sighed for a second time. _Everything is fifty-fifty here._ But his chances of talking Gon out of this were even worse.

* * *

><p>Kurapika put her phone back in her pocket, walking over to rejoin Leorio where he sat half-in, half-out of his rental car. He shuffled through the papers from the glove-compartment, searching for the map. She ran her fingers along the dark blue metal of the car's hood, watching light slide over its surface. Outside the parking garage, she could hear the rush of traffic and the pattering fall of rain. Motor oil and lightning tainted every breath she took.<p>

"How is it?" Leorio asked, discarding another folded up paper.

"I tried to get more information on tonight's auction, but the community hasn't made any advertisements yet."

_No news about the auction; and no conclusive evidence that the Ryodan will remain if it gets canceled. Should I leave the city as planned myself? Even if it means giving up on one set of Eyes for the present._ But she didn't think it had to.

"What if you tell them that the corpses were fake?" Leorio looked up, frowning. "They might change their minds about the hunt if they knew the Ryodan was alive."

"No." She smoothed her thumb against the rings on her other fingers. "Now that they know where the thieves come from, they'll do everything to avoid a confrontation."

Spotting the corner of a map in the pile of papers that Leorio was trying to juggle and search through while simultaneously looking at her, she leaned over to pluck it from his stack. She unfolded it and spread it across the hood of his car. He tossed the rest of the papers back inside, slamming the door shut.

"What are you doing?" he asked, hovering.

Right hand outstretched over the map, she let the dowsing chain fall free. The process was trickier when she searched for a remote target, but the tension that had clouded her mind earlier had faded back into the depths of her awareness. Now, she had the first steps of her plan clear. That helped remove the haze from her mind as well.

"This chain will lead me to whatever I want to find," she answered Leorio without answering. "So long as I have a good picture of what that is."

A mental command sent it swinging in circles, humming quietly as it sought for the aura she specified.

"It's true that the mafia will no longer move against the Spiders. But that's not what I'm interested in," she explained, watching the tightening circles that the dowsing chain made over the lines that represented all of York Shin's sprawling buildings and tangled streets. "Will the auction continue? That's what I want to know."

_Because that will determine whether or not the Spider stays. And also— _The dowsing chain stilled, its metal ball coming to rest with a rustle and a click as it touched down on the map. _There._ _I knew it._ She smiled grimly. _The Eyes._

* * *

><p>All the vague worry that Leorio had felt over the last six months, when he tried to call her and got no answer or when she returned his messages with short texts saying that she was too busy to talk or when he remembered the color her eyes had turned during the last exam — It all crashed back down on him like a load of bricks. He recognized the expression on her face now, the same one she had worn when Hisoka walked away from their match. The same hint of eerie red lit up her eyes behind the glasses.<p>

"Don't tell me you want to go face the Ryodan?" he demanded, voice rising when she didn't answer. "You're crazy! You want to fight them without the support of the mafia?"

"You misunderstand, Leorio." She didn't even glance up from the map as she traced a finger over it to where her chain was pointing. "I never received support from the mafia."

She _wanted_ to get herself killed.

"No. Definitely not! You _can't!_" Desperation clutched at him, tricking him into saying the wrong thing again. "I – I won't let you."

Her head snapped up at that, pride setting her face into the frozen anger that he thought looked far too harsh on her. She looked so much better when she was calm, or thoughtful, or irritated, or the rare occasions when she actually laughed. _I don't want her to die._ Leorio just wanted her to smile a little more, maybe someday for him.

"You won't stop me."

"They will _kill_ you, Kurapika!"

"The question is not whether the Spiders kill me–" she spoke almost too softly to hear, "–but whether I choose to kill them."

He watched in growing alarm as she folded up the map and slipped it into a pocket. _She's serious,_ he realized._ She really means that._ Anger and fear made him unfair.

"And what about Gon and Killua? You don't care if they throw away their lives, so long as you get what _you_ want! Forget it! Following you is as good as suicide!"

She shook off the hand he tried to place on her shoulder, the one possessive gesture he had ever felt able to allow himself.

"I never asked for your help," her voice turned flat, empty. "Or your concern."

And then she disappeared before he could even think about following her.

Running out of the entrance of the garage, he could only see sheeting rain and an empty street. No one in sight and no sign of her passing. Hollow, Leorio remembered that she always did leave him feeling like a fool.

* * *

><p>"I just want to go," Gon announced from beside Killua; clearly, he thought he was explaining something about his reasoning process.<p>

They had returned to the circle of couches. Leorio and Kurapika weren't back yet, but that just meant that even the most experienced member of their little group had trouble coming up with a plan to defeat the Spiders on their own turf. And Gon wanted to waltz back into the base that they had fled before.

_Yeah, let's jump right back into the fire we barely escaped last night,_ Killua thought sarcastically. But the mafia were not the only ones willing to pay bounties on S-class criminals. _With that kind of money, we might not need to rely on Gon's crazy, secret plan._

"We should talk to Kurapika," he insisted. "Before anything else."

Already, he felt that was too much of a concession to insanity.

"She'll definitely want us to help her now," Gon grinned, kicking his feet back and forth. "We've seen almost all of them, and she only found one."

"Yeah, but she killed that one."

That reminder sobered his eternally cheerful friend.

"I don't think it will be good for her to kill any more of them," he said in a voice of unexpected wisdom that sat oddly on his young face.

But even if the statement itself might have some merit – it certainly held true with Killua's judgment of the Kurata's true character – the personal implications were far too dangerous to overlook.

"So you want to go _alone_?"

He lost minutes of his life just thinking about it.

"No," Gon shook his head. "But I want to arrest them, not kill them. After last night, I think Kurapika is thinking the same way."

"Huh." Killua agreed, but he didn't want to say as much in so many words. "Whatever. I don't want to go back."

"But what about the money?"

"You have another plan," Killua smirked. "I trust you."

"Yeah!" Gon grinned. "But I still want to see what they're doing."

"It's too dangerous!" Killua tried to bring his stubborn friend into admitting that some challenges were never meant to be taken. "They'll trash us this time for sure."

"Kurapika thinks most of them will go to the auction, right?" argued the other boy. "And Nobunaga might not be guarding their base this time. And I think the rest of them would ignore us if we play stupid."

"We would be stupid, if we went in there! Last time, that one guy wanted to break your arm!" Killua shouted, springing to his feet and pacing angrily around the table. "And the other one wanted to force us to join them! And one of them is _Hisoka!_"

"Last time most of them were going to let us go after they realized we didn't have anything to do with the chain-user."

"Well, now we do!" he retorted.

"But the only one of them who could find that out doesn't have a reason to investigate us again. Why would she bother reading our memories a second time?"

Killua stopped pacing to glare at his mentally deficient friend. Before he could open his mouth to list all of the very good reasons they could not trust that reasoning, Gon cut him off.

"Even if we just go to look around, I want to know," he said simply, hands resting on his knees and face shining with sincerity.

That look could only mean trouble, but Killua would have to meet it head on.

"Know what?"

"Why."

"Why _what_?" Killua gritted out in irritation.

Gon kicked his feet a few more times, staring at them, before he answered.

"Why they can cry for each other, but nobody else," he finally said. "Why they hurt people, even after they understand what it means to be hurt."

The Zaoldyek struggled with that for a moment. Obvious answers died before Gon's conviction, as did protestations that it didn't _matter_ what made the Ryodan tick. They were what they were, and probably no one else could hope to understand. Gon fooled himself thinking that it was important to know their reasons.

"I know why Kurapika wants to kill them, even though she doesn't like to kill," Gon continued quietly. "But I don't know how they can murder people who have no connection to them."

He saw Leorio coming towards them, his steps slow and heavy, and Killua gave up the fight.

"We still need her help," he conceded, grudgingly flopping back down to sit beside his friend.

"She left," Leorio said, coming to a halt.

_What?_

"Kurapika?" Gon stood up, sensing something wrong. "Where did she go?"

Leorio shook his head, not meeting their eyes. _This is bad, this is bad,_ Killua thought as he took in the man's hopeless posture and lost expression. Every instinct told him that whatever had happened, it could only mean trouble – or disaster – for them.

"She had … one of her chains," Leorio finally said, not very coherently. "It leads her to things that she wanted to find. She used it to find some place on the map and she – she took off before I could stop her."

"A nen chain? Did it—"

"What way was the chain leading?" Killua cut Gon off; interesting as the girl's use of nen was, they needed to make sure she survived for them to ask her about it.

"I don't remember." Leorio sank down on one of the chairs, his head in his hands. "I don't remember."

But there were only so many things that Kurapika wanted to find right now.

"Somewhere close to the desert?" he asked, hoping to draw the information out with specific questions. People often remembered more than they thought they did; all it took was the right reminders. Of course, he had learn that technique from his father as an aid for torturing untrustworthy informants … but the principle applied here too.

"I — yes. Yes, it was." Leorio fiddled with his glasses, as though the image might be imprinted on them somewhere. "On the southeast edge of the city, maybe."

_Knew it._ Killua sprang to his feet. _She can only be after the Spider._

"We know where she's headed!" Gon exclaimed, catching on. "We'll go to back her up!"

"That's not a plan," Killua objected. "How can we back her up? What if we get caught and can't escape? How accurate is her chain, anyway? When will we—"

"Let's call her and plan on the way," the other boy smiled. "Kurapika is good at plans! Killua too! And I know we can help."

Leorio stood abruptly.

"We have to do something to help her," he said, proving that he hadn't really paid attention to their discussion at all.

"You can come with us, Leorio," Gon offered generously.

"We definitely can't just walk into their territory," protested Killua, survival instincts kicking in. "What happens if—"

"Come on, Killua." Gon was already heading for the door. "Please?"

And he couldn't say no to that.

As they left, Leorio stooped down to retrieve the bag that Kurapika had forgotten. Killua guessed that it contained the traditional clothes she had been wearing before. It seemed like dead-weight to him, but leaving it lying around was probably careless. He looked at Leorio's face, and decided not to say anything.

His own expression remained reluctant, but he couldn't really resist. Kurapika needed help and Gon had asked him – and he was beginning to enjoy the feeling that other people relied on him. Before he had met Gon, and Leorio and Kurapika, he hadn't known how much fun it could be to know that people were counting on you.

_I'm beginning to like it._

He didn't know if that realization made him happy or irritated or afraid.

* * *

><p>Kurapika sprinted through the desert storm as lightning clawed the sky above her. She avoided open streets, plunging through the twisted alleys of York Shin's grimy underworld. The dowsing chain hummed from her hand, swinging back and forth to the rhythm of her steps as she raced towards the Eyes. She had been close to their location before, the day she fought – <em>and killed<em> – a Spider.

Her breath misted out in ragged white clouds.

What Leorio had said still hurt, for some reason. _Because it's true,_ her ruthless inner critic whispered. _Because it's not right to sacrifice the living for the dead._ But for a long time Kurapika had counted herself among the casualties of the Kurata massacre. Her own life had stopped, and though she had picked herself up and kept moving … she shared more with the dead than the living. Even if she couldn't reconcile her heart to the deaths of Gon and Leorio and Killua, she would continue down the road of self-sacrifice alone.

_Everything I am, everything I do is for one purpose._

She couldn't be weakened by concern for any partners she might wish she could have. And after last night's disaster, it was clear that she couldn't afford to let herself be torn between revenge on the Spider and reclamation of the Eyes. So it was better this way, she decided as puddles splashed under her feet. _Better to go alone._ Solitude enabled her to act as necessary, to adapt to changing situations without worrying over communication and coordination and comrades. Unburdened by allies she could not trust, she was free to pour her entire soul into the hunt for what had been lost.

Leorio's words only proved that those from the outside could never forge the kind of bonds that knit the clan together ― iron chains unbroken by betrayal or hate or love … or death.

* * *

><p>The subway lurched, but years of physical training kept Pakunoda from doing more than sway a little in place. Dirty fluorescent lighting and the smell of old rubber were giving her a headache – pain like a lover clinging to her. Outside scratched plastic windows, the tunnel rushed by.<p>

"I still can't get a signal," Coltopi detangled his cellphone from the masses of hair around his head. "We could get off at the next stop―"

"And wait at least fifteen minutes for the next train or run to catch up with this one," Phinks pointed out from the other side of Nobunaga. "We can call Dancho when we reach the last station."

"We know the target's name and appearance," Feitan agreed. "It won't be long now."

The subway lurched again. Pakunoda hung onto the back of a seat and ignored the debate the same way that their fellow passengers were trying to ignore the presence of several very odd, very armed people sharing their subway car.

_Kurapika._ She had taken the name and face from Zenji when he returned alone to the hotel, and derived a great deal of perverse satisfaction from the fact that someone had – finally – broken his nose and given him a beautiful, swelling cut on his forehead. _Except that it was the Kurata who did that. And he didn't know anything besides her name and tribe and – tenuous – alliance with the Nostrads._

"I still don't get why she gave the Eyes right back," Phinks commented. "It's the only thing that doesn't make any sense. Well, that and why the fat man thinks she was hired by someone else to steal them."

Bonorolf muttered something, but the words were inaudible under the straps running across his mouth.

"My copies are very good," replied Coltopi, apparently able to decode the muffled question. "But they won't fool a searcher using nen."

Pakunoda dug her nails into her palms. She trusted Dancho alone to get them all out of this crisis; Kuroro alone could navigate a clear path to the truth. If they could just get a phone signal through the tunnel … but she wanted to talk to him in person.

"Bah," Feitan broke in. "Let's just ask these Nostrad people where she is now."

"We report to Dancho first," Pakunoda said flatly. "The Kurata might already be on her way there."

"You're convinced that the chain-user will come to us," objected Phinks. "But I don't see―"

"Whatever." Nobunaga cut them all off unexpectedly. "It doesn't matter where or when or how, so long as we find this Kurapika."

He was obviously not in the mood for chatter, and the way his hand was clenched on the hilt of his katana convinced them all to subside for the moment.

"Someone's there," Coltopi announced unexpectedly.

"Where?" Phinks demanded, looking around the car suspiciously as though the Kurata would be stupid enough to tackle all six of them in such close quarters.

"Paku asked me to feel for any intrusions on the fake buildings outside the hideout. Not much of a presence…" the forger continued, "…but it's there."

"We're getting off," Pakunoda snapped. "And reporting to Dancho right now."

The lights flickered, and the floor shuddered beneath them.

_What―_ Pakunoda pitched forward into Phinks.

The subway jolted to a stop as, all across York Shin, the lights went out.


	11. Total Eclipse

_I apologize for the delayed update. Thank you everyone who reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>: Total Eclipse

Kurapika came to rest cautiously on a rooftop, remembrance sweeping over her like the rain. _I first fought a Spider in a place like this. _But this time, she was much farther away from the dowsing chain's lodestar. The metal ball hummed and jittered angrily in her fist. She remained motionless, brown eyes flicking over the terrain before her. Last time, the web of streets she had marked as belonging to the Spider's hiding place had looked less crowded by buildings.

_Something is wrong._ She examined the cluster of ruined hotels, looking for clues to whatever might be causing the faint feeling of unease. But gyou revealed nothing irregular.

The Kurata paused.

_Irregular? _Biting her lower lip, she paid more attention to the shape of the buildings. _No, they're identical. Too identical even for a development constructed during the same time period. Even the damage to the roof is the same if you match the angles._ So the Ryodan's forger must have been at work here too, materializing multiple copies of whatever collapsed home the Spider had crept into.

For a second of weakness, she considered turning her phone back on and calling the boys to ask how far in they thought the base was likely to be located.

But she had the dowsing chain, and her own strong desires, to guide her through this. She didn't need anyone else. Flipping down from the rooftop, Kurapika spent an extra moment ensuring that no whisper of her aura disturbed the evening. Falling rain and thunder masked any sound that might have betrayed her as she crossed the dead zone of torn-up cement.

"_You'll never succeed, Kurata!"_ A dead man howled in her memory. _"I'll send you back to hell first!"_

Unseen, she entered the labyrinth.

* * *

><p>"She's still not answering," reported Gon from the front of the car.<p>

Water streamed down the windshield, melting the lights of the city as they struggled through the last rush of traffic crossing the bridges that connected across the harbor. Trapped in the halting progress of stop-and-go motion, Killua was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic. Then again, the sick feeling in his stomach was probably just a natural reaction to the thought of what waited for them at their destination.

"She must have turned off her phone," Leorio said, his voice low.

"Do you still want to go in?" Killua leaned over the back of Gon's seat, anxiety prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

_Without Kurapika to coordinate our movements, can we really get out unhurt?_

He would do his best, but he hadn't spent the last several years obsessed with the Ryodan and its tactics. And Gon positively enjoyed rushing to meet danger face-to-face. They would have to leave Leorio with the car, too.

_This looks more and more like a lost cause._

"We're going," Gon said firmly. "And once we find Kurapika, we can work together."

"And if the Ryodan spots us first?"

"Then we find out what we can and call Kurapika after they let us go."

_If they let us go._ The Zaoldyek grumbled at his reflection in the window unhappily. This was definitely a stupid idea.

By a chance of the direction he was facing, he saw the darkness coming. From an overpass, Killua watched as block after block went dead ― as though someone was throwing a switch on all the lights in York Shin. Then the street-lamps lighting their bridge also went out … leaving them stranded in the unfamiliar, absolute black of night.

"Shit." Leorio sounded as shocked as Killua felt.

Lightning cracked overhead, thunder erasing whatever else the man had begun shouting.

* * *

><p>Nothing distinguished the building as different from the others, but the Eyes – a bloodstain of guilt – betrayed the Ryodan's presence. Kurapika placed one foot in front of the other with a deliberate, trembling caution. Unlike her first battle, this time she was pitting herself against the entire Genei Ryodan at once; even with her confidence in the chains, acting precipitously would end in destruction.<p>

She circled to the back of the hotel, the one truth among many fakes, searching for a place to climb. At the furthest point from the faint, painful pulse that marked the Scarlet Eyes, she stopped and waited for another burst of thunder to cover the sound of her ascent.

A flash of lightning warned her.

Under the rumble of thunder that chased a few seconds behind, her chain whipped around a jutting pipe and she flung herself upwards in a flying arc. Her feet touched the roof almost soundlessly as the thunder died away. Kurapika flattened into a low crouch.

No sudden blast of hostile awareness, no shout of challenge, and no prickle of alarm — the Ryodan must not keep a permanent guard on top of the building. Light as a moth, she crept forward. The storm concealed the unavoidable creaking and scratching noises that followed her progress across the unstable surface.

The high roof dropped suddenly over the ground floor that marked the long entrance lobby. Soundless, she swung down on the chain. _I must look like a spider myself. _

_A thief._

She buried that thought and put nails in its coffin. _The Eyes belong to the clan._ No one else had the right to touch them. _I'll never forgive anyone who tries._

She paused in the shadow of the wall, taking a moment to calm herself. Rain poured down her face like tears; Kurapika shook it away impatiently. The wig and hat had been lost, somewhere in her sprint through the city — but she had no thought of turning back to retrieve them. The glasses kept threatening to slip off as well, and she considered removing them altogether.

_The less they see of me, the better._ She adjusted the lenses with careful hands.

The momentary pause bought her a little bit of sanity back from the dark, rushing emotions that tried to surge over her. She was getting too close to the Eyes to hold her focus on the dangers that stood between her and them. _Don't falter now, _the Kurata berated herself. _Loss of focus equals death._ The wild taste of the storm filled her mouth as she drew a deeper breath.

Then she began to work her way forward again, creeping between the pitfall traps of skylights. The dowsing chain's vibration shook in the bones of her hand now. A faint, flickering light caught in the shards of broken glass clinging to the frame of one of the skylights.

_Spiders._

Hatred stabbed at her, an aching throb like nerves in a rotted tooth. Kurapika flattened to her stomach and dragged herself to the edge. Below, flames hissed from candle after candle. Dark silhouettes cast vague, numerous shadows over tumbled pillars and wooden crates. _Six._ She counted over and over again, tracking the figures that moved back and forth through the backdrop of wax and fire and cracked stone. _Half of them are missing._

_And six unknown nen-users showed up at the Nostrad's hotel._ Undeniable symmetry … But even if the Spiders had begun to hunt her, she had evened the odds by circling behind their backs and reaching their base first. She could kill―Kurapika cut through the thought. Bloodlust would betray her, turn her into what she abhorred.

Her hands trembled.

From where she crouched at the edge, she could not see the Eyes. And if the Spiders spoke to each other, she could not hear.

A ghostly mist was rising below, licking up off the ground and lingering on the edges of the Ryodan's activity. The Kurata frowned. _Unnatural._ She reached out with all her senses, trying to identify the source of her suddenly uncertain feelings.

The aura from the Eyes pounded in her heart, dangerous and distracting and compelling. It would be so easy: slip through the skylight to descend upon them unawares, her long-awaited confrontation … a rush of adrenaline flooded her with sudden heat.

_Don't,_ she steadied herself. _Plan carefully, move only when success is assured._ They might not seem to be on alert in the fastness of their base – but it would be foolish to underestimate the Genei Ryodan. A sudden flare of lightning could easily reveal her shadow as she entered. A flash of hatred or aggression at the wrong moment could reveal her aura. She could not approach from above until the storm blew itself further out, over the desert. Or until more of them left.

_They show no signs of departing the city tonight, but that's speculation._ She hoped Spider meant to attend the last night of the mafia's auction as well. Then most of them would crawl out of their lair before long. _I can deal with whatever rear-guards remain behind to watch over the stolen treasures._ Against a few of the Ryodan, in the same room as her objective, she would be at peak strength.

The Kurata bit her lip. _So close._

Six living, deadly obstacles in between her and the Eyes. She could not make the same mistakes she had made before. In order to regain those fragments of her comrade's body, she would sacrifice her own selfishness. Pride, honor, happiness — even revenge. Everything. Her sacred duty took precedence before it all.

Kurapika grew still and cold under the pounding rain, waiting for the lightning to leave York Shin.

* * *

><p>The first problem they ran into was the sudden multiplication of buildings that seemed to have sprung up around the Spider's lair overnight. Parking the car in the mouth of an alley just outside the danger zone, the three of them argued over the best approach. Gon prevailed (by sheer rock-headed stubbornness) with straight-forward infiltration. Killua was annoyed, but not surprised.<p>

Then the second problem appeared, when they tried to leave Leorio with the car.

"I'm going," he said flatly.

"You can't," insisted Gon, still in his obstinate mode. "It's important that you stay with the car so we can get away fast if we need to."

"You stay," the man replied, heedless. "I'm going."

"I understand that you want to—"

Killua cut Gon off, because he didn't think that the other boy understood at all.

"What can you do to help her?"

Leorio froze in the act of opening the door. _I knew it,_ Killua sighed internally. _He has no survival instincts. Zero._

The Kurata might as well have a tattoo on her forehead saying "unavailable." Her all-consuming quest for vengeance and vindication and the goddam eyes of her brethren prevented her from forming normal attachments, much less romantic ones. Beyond that, as Killua judged it, she would have been out of Leorio's league anyway.

But then, most of what he knew about romance he had picked up from Illumi's occasional, irreverent comments and his grandfather's hideously embarrassing reminiscences. (He had always been profoundly grateful that his parents refrained from confiding any details of their relationship to him.) If only Leorio didn't insist on dragging all of his friends into his delusions.

As it was, Killua didn't think that Kurapika even perceived what was going on. _If she did, she'd __probably get mad at Leorio for 'wasting time.'_ Everyone else would be better off if she took care of it herself, of course. But since she wasn't here, and time really was wasting in this case, Killua would step up.

"You'll get in the way," he told Leorio with unflinching honesty.

_Might as well get this over with while his noise is still muffled by the car._

"You don't even know as much nen as we do," he continued, unrelenting. "Maybe you could, with more training, but you can't do anything now. There's no way you'll be able to take on anyone from the Ryodan. Of all of us, only Kurapika can match their level."

_And I want to know how she got there._ But his quest to improve himself could wait. _Right now, there's yet another idiot to deal with._

"I don't care!" Leorio shouted. "I don't _care_ if they're too powerful or – or she's as powerful! We need to help her, before she's out of reach!"

_Worse than I thought_, Killua reflected gloomily as the man slammed out of the car.

"Leorio!" Gon protested, jumping out after him.

Mentally cursing all skirt-chasers to oblivion, Killua hurried after them. Fortunately, they hadn't made it out of the alley. Leorio was trying to shake off the hold that Gon had managed to establish on his elbow. _Only one thing to do now._ Not that he would enjoy it … except that, yeah, he kind of deep down in a sneaky sort of way would.

"Sorry 'bout this," Killua said, more to Gon than to Leorio.

The other boy made a brief noise of denial as the Zaoldyek started to move, but he was too late. All the breath left Leorio's lungs in a rush as Killua's fist rammed into his stomach. The older man collapsed, rolling limply to one side. Gon grabbed him before his head could hit the pavement. Awkwardly trying to support their friend's unconscious weight, he glared at Killua.

"He was never going to stay put," Killua pointed out before he could be accused. "Do you really want to chase after him _and_ Kurapika while trying to avoid the Ryodan?"

"He's going to yell at us later," Gon muttered, but he didn't argue.

"At least he'll live to yell," the former assassin replied, slinging one of Leorio's arms over his shoulder. "Help me get him into the car."

They wrestled the limp body into the rear of the car, and pushed it further back into the alley together.

Panting, the two boys rested against the rear-bumper for a moment of rest.

Gon fidgeted, distracted from his determination by something. "Killua, do you think—"

"What?" he demanded impatiently, when the question never finished.

"I don't know." The other boy scowled, scuffing his feet. "What Kurapika said about nen bothered me."

Killua nodded in understanding. "You don't like obeying rules in exchange for power."

"No, that's fine."

The Zaoldyek felt a flicker of surprise — occasionally he forgot that Gon would accept the strangest things without question, but object to others for the weirdest reasons. _Probably why we get along so well._

"She said nen was a curse." Gon scowled.

Killua thought back over the brief – for Kurapika, anyway – lecture this afternoon. "No, she didn't. She said that _her_ nen acted sort of _like_ a curse. It's different."

_Isn't it?_

"Maybe." Gon shook his head vigorously. "I still don't like to think what she might do, if she's thinking that way when she fights."

"Let's catch her, and you tell her so."

With that goal fixed, they left the car.

"Where do you want to start?" Killua asked as they jogged into the heart of danger.

Gon darted a quick glance at the new buildings.

"The rain makes it hard to smell anything," he complained. "We'll have to hope we get lucky."

"You know this is crazy," Killua grumbled. "I swear, if I hear their voices behind me, my heart's gonna stop."

Gon, the idiot, just grinned.

* * *

><p>Kuroro hung up the phone, and rubbed a hand across his mouth. Lightning blazed ragged trails across the sky outside, hard spikes of illumination drowning out the gentler warmth of the candles. The air was chill, his breath forming patterns in the air.<p>

"Dancho?"

He looked up to find Machi standing before him, the others watching expectantly.

"Coltopi has detected one or more intruders in our territory." He got to his feet. "We're going to check it out."

* * *

><p>The Spiders were leaving.<p>

On the rooftop above them, Kurapika tensed. She still could not see her target, but she could feel it in the double pulse of her heart and the dowsing chain.

_I could take one out immediately, if I dropped on their heads now._

Their leader walked, ignorant and so hated, underneath her own position. She had recognized the shadow of his form brooding on the lower steps of the staircase below, because she could not forget the sight of his broken, bleeding body in the Cemetery Building. _If only he had really died there._ But even the sweetness of revenge had turned sour in her mouth.

"_There's no hope in vengeance,"_ her teacher had warned her, right before she set out for York Shin. _"You'll fill your hands with blood and find yourself empty."_

After the chaos the giant's ghost had sown in her mind, she realized how right he had been … about some things.

But envy and loathing still festered somewhere deep within her. It wasn't right that the Spiders should live, should share companionship together, when the clan had died. Not right that their deceased, murdering comrade found peace, while her tribe suffered in death! Maybe they weren't monsters — but she despised them all the more, for being human.

And she _hated_ that she must bear the lonely burden of grief and loss and responsibility, while the Ryodan went unpunished.

Perhaps, as Gon had suggested, she should arrest the Spider and walk away free. _I thought that was what I wanted this morning._ But thinking such a way when half the organization had already been destroyed, when they had not taken the Eyes for a second time … when she did not have to look down and face the reality of their existence … _I cannot just let go._ Rain slid over the chains at her wrist and fingers. _I won't._

_And I might never get a better chance._ They had gone; she felt their auras disperse into the night without even a rear guard left behind. Common sense told her it was a trap, an obvious, blatant trap — but her mind would _break_ under the strain of resisting this chance.

_Suicide. But I don't care!_

Kurapika slipped down into the heart of the Ryodan's stronghold.

From the shadows at the top of the grand staircase connecting the lower lobby to the upper floors, she saw the Eyes. Burning pain tore at her, the blade of the judgment chain twisting deeper into her heart. The edges of the room receded, lost in mist and darkness. Below, on a slab of chipped concrete, the double-case of the auction's Scarlet Eyes glimmered in candlelight.

Step by inaudible step, Kurapika descended the stairs.

Mindless, blank: the irises swallowed her awareness in the reflection of their dull, crimson hatred. _The color of transgressions._ Not even the glasses covering her own eyes could dim that glow. She reached the circle of candles at the bottom of the stairs, golden tongues of fire licking at her feet. Hazy rings of mist haloed the flames.

_I remember the fire. I remember―_

One last tremor ran through her, then she snapped forward in a rush that ended before the makeshift altar. Chains rattled, a tiny, metallic clatter of sound lost in the music of the storm.

Under her reaching hand the Red Eyes blurred, shifted, and disappeared into stone.

* * *

><p>Kuroro gave his orders to the other Spiders in quick, no-nonsense style as they left the base. His five subordinates accepted without arguing, splitting up in teams to cover the most territory. Pakunoda's group was only twenty minutes away by foot. Less, if the faster members came ahead.<p>

Bringing out Hisoka was a risk, but leaving a compromised member in the core of their base without observation was even riskier. Besides that, it was unlikely for a 'sword of oath' type ability to be open for modification after the fact. So Kuroro sent the magician with Franklin and Shalnark, the two least likely to ignore abnormal behavior.

He watched them vanish into the rain, then slid back through the open doors of the hotel.

To find that the chain-user was already inside.

Kuroro froze just inside the broken doorway, a split-second of time all that was necessary to pick out the dark figure at the top of the stairs.

He had opted to guard the base on the off-chance that their target managed to slip past the rest of the Ryodan … but it had been a reflexive choice, an irrational feeling that the Scarlet Eyes themselves reanimated when he wasn't looking and took the form of the avenger that had defeated Ubo.

_Sometimes, the mental process that creates that kind of fantasy is rooted in subconscious survival instincts,_ he acknowledged as he watched the intruder pace quietly down into his ring of candles.

In the shadows and the dark fabric of her clothes, he could have mistaken her for a phantom―a ghost emerging from storm and fog.

_I never thought we were looking for a woman._ Kuroro felt an ironic edge of surprise work through his observation, as he flicked through the pages of his skill-book as stealthily as possible. Reflected candlelight slid across her lenses, an answering flash of crimson visible behind the glass even at this distance. Only the taut line of her mouth trembled, with emotion or nerves or cold.

The chain-user darted forward, possibly detecting his presence.

Kuroro reacted instantly, activating the first ability at hand. Even as the Kurata reached out to take back the Eyes, he whipped her away. She teleported across the lobby, reappearing within arm's reach … and with her back wide open to attack.

Kuroro's hand snapped down on her neck, full strength held back to prevent severing her head from her body.

It should have been exactly enough to incapacitate her – but he felt, even as his hand connected, the protective shield of her aura blunt the impact. She rolled with the force of his blow, twisting to face him in a protective crouch.

_Greater skill in reinforcement than expected. _Still, he had calculated their relative positions well.

She was cornered between him and the wall.

Opaque glasses concealed half of her face, streaked with rain. More water dripped from dark gold hair and the rings of her weapon. A single earring sparked from one ear. Disoriented, but recovering, she struck out at him with an instinctive, wicked lash of chains.

A sudden burst of deviltry prompted Kuroro to counter by ducking forward and flicking the glasses off her face.

Up close, her eyes blazed the color of murder.

Surprised, Kuroro faltered on his follow-through — he hadn't expected to be confronted by a child. Especially not one regarding him with a look of reckless, naked hate.

The Kurata spat at him like a bristling cat. _Or a coiled snake._

Kuroro dodged backwards, even as her chain slammed into the floor he had just been standing on. Shards of concrete flew up between them. He could feel the strength of the nen in the links that comprised the chain; he was definitely interested in stealing it.

He ducked another vicious whiplash of metal, and let his book fade out of existence.

Of course, taking her ability meant letting her live … The hilt of the Benz knife was in his hand before he completed the thought.

_Two Zaoldyeks were enough to break through this, but one Kurata shouldn't pose as much of a challenge._

* * *

><p>Metal slithered against metal.<p>

Kurapika flicked out a loop of the dowsing chain, catching the barbed curves of the Spider's knife and wrenching it sideways. He pulled backwards, trying to disengage but she had his weapon tangled in her own. _Finally._ A maelstrom of darkness seethed within her, focused on the leader of the Ryodan as he struggled with her. _I caught you!_

Then her enemy's free hand came up in another blow aimed at her neck, and she had no choice but pull back.

They broke apart, circling: facing off like in a traditional duel. Like she had always imagined they would, even before she had known his face. A vivid blaze of lightning lit up, glowing in the fog, flashing off metal and rain for a brief second.

Kurapika ducked away in that moment of partial-blindness, but the Spider followed on her heels. _That's right. _Cold, angry joy lent speed to her steps as she led him further into the mist-wreathed columns._ Chase after my shadow in hatred, as I have hated you._

She whirled around, coming up to face him as the hidden chain-jail hissed from her out-stretched hand.

Somehow, perhaps catching the variation in the mist, he sensed the trap and evaded it at the last second. The hooked chain flew over his head, catching air. He rolled, lunging up to strike at her in that small moment of over-extension.

Awkward, Kurapika twisted sideways. The fur of his sleeve brushed her skin as she snatched her outstretched hand back from his strike.

Unbalanced, she did a quick step-dance to avoid falling. Broken chunks of concrete rattled underfoot. But she still managed to keep the Spider at bay with violent swipe of chains.

Smiling, the Spider backed off and gave her a mocking half-salute with his knife.

_He's not even using nen. _Her eyes burned with rage and a sick, aching heat – the rough surge of her aura answering anger with more and more power. There had been things she wanted to say, answers she desperately needed — but hatred burned off all restraint, all rational awareness._ He's not fighting for real!_ Humiliation gave Kurapika's fury a sharp, desperate edge.

The Spider was forced to jump and jump again to keep from being caught by her increasing speed.

He landed a few feet away, but the hook twisted after him. Savage, she treasured the brief satisfaction of his surprise as the hem of his long jacket was snagged. Dark fabric ripped as he wrenched free.

And the dowsing chain was there to meet him, the weighted ball cracking across his face.

The first blow landed in this fight, and it had been _hers_.

For a surreal second, they both stopped — made equal by the surprise of it. Mist felt clammy, chill and damp as it swirled over her skin. The Spider's eyes narrowed, as though he were seeing her again for the first time.

But it was Kurapika who recovered faster.

_Not enough._

Small explosions of concrete and splashed puddles followed the enemy's progress across the center of the room as her chains slammed into the shadow of his racing footsteps.

A wordless scream was building in her chest.

_It's not enough!_

The Spider ducked to an unexpected halt, and her chain over-shot: punching a hole through the column behind him. If the strike had found its mark, it would have fractured bones.

Kurapika pulled herself up short, several yards away, breathing hard.

The man turned to face her. She could see the bruise growing on his jaw, the smear of blood from his broken skin.

_I did that._

But she had no time to indulge or enjoy the knowledge; because the Spider took one step to the side, and the Red Eyes were resting on the plinth behind him. Robbed of thought, Kurapika stared.

Scarlet irises glared at her in silent accusation. For a moment – _more_ than a moment – she had forgotten their existence. Guilt stole her breath.

A crumbling, defiled cathedral, the abandoned hotel felt saturated with promises of death and the noiseless howling of demons. Shadows were beginning to gather around the Eyes in their container – curling tendrils of something heavy like mist, and dark like smoke. _Burn it all!_ The destructive urge infected her like a disease.

Torn, indecisive, Kurapika froze for one second too long.

* * *

><p>His opponent was turning out to be unexpectedly quick on the draw, so Kuroro changed the game: taking up the most obvious and strategic position available, right beside the Scarlet Eyes. The Kurata wrenched to a halt, her face turning paper-white. Kuroro could read the slow dilation of fury in her red stained eyes.<p>

_Were the Kurata afflicted by berserker rage? _he wondered, as nen flared around her with renewed fury. She was too easy to provoke; he had seen it several times over during their brief match. _Inexperience handicaps her. But only for so long._

Sighting his opening, Kuroro zipped under the defensive curl of her chains. The poisoned knife drew a red gash down her right arm, ripping through the dark material of her sleeve ― Chains flailed in sudden confusion around him as she lost control of that limb.

He turned his hands flat on her shoulders to shove her away.

Surprisingly, she recovered enough to hook an ankle around his knee and drag him down in her fall. _Good reflexes,_ Kuroro mentally applauded even as he lost his balance. Tangled together, they crashed awkwardly on the rubble of columns.

The Red Eyes, caught by a loop of chains, landed beside them with a sudden splintering of glass.

Fierce, intensely wordless, the Kurata put up a good fight. But the match still ended with Kuroro's foot on her back, bracing his other knee for balance on the slab of cement at her side. With the paralyzation of her arm, the rings and chains wrapped around her hand wavered, losing substance and weight as she lost control of her nen.

_Materialization type, then._ He breathed out a satisfied sigh, a faint curl of condensation on the cold air. But he wasted no time in getting a firmer grip on her wrists. The Benz knife had dropped somewhere, out of sight, but it had served its purpose. _This ability will be worth the trouble of convincing Nobu that he can't kill her._ Whatever it might actually be, he'd never encountered anything quite like it. _Quite unique._

Casual, Kuroro wrenched both the Kurata's arms up at a deliberate, painful angle behind her – where he could watch out for the reappearance of the chains. _Just in case._

Her body shook, fighting the immobilizing effects of the poison.

"Dancho?"

He straightened up as far as he was able without losing his hold on the chain-user and glanced over the broken columns between him and the entrance. The mist had grown into a thick fog, obscuring vision to the point of impairment, so he switched to gyou.

_And just when you think the world has nothing more to surprise you with, _he thought dryly, catching sight of the group crossing the threshold.

Kuroro had expected one of the teams to return soon, attracted by the conflict … He had not expected them to bring back two children, wearing expressions of chagrined stoicism as they marched between Hisoka and Machi. From the latter's grim attitude, and the nen-threads she had wrapped around their wrists and necks, he gathered that these must be the infamous duo she and Nobunaga had been arguing about since yesterday.

_They must have something to do with this after all. Chalk another one up to Machi's intuition._

"Over here," he called, pulling his defeated opponent up by the collar as he started to get to his feet.

Something – a sound or the hint of an unfinished motion – alerted him. Kuroro glanced down sharply, half-expecting the chain-user to attack. Instead, he saw her lips trembling, forming a single, inaudible word.

_'Move_.'

An overwhelming, crushing aura of hatred blazed up around them like a scream.

* * *

><p>It took less than a second for everything to go to hell.<p>

Kurapika tasted blood, and knew it was her own. She cursed her fatal weakness, and waited for the killing blow. Despair wrenched at every next-to-last breath; broken edges of stone dug into her stomach and chest as her ribs creaked warningly under the Spider's weight. Time was passing outside the prison of her paralyzed body – something was beginning to break inside her mind – _something is going wrong! – _but she couldn't even lift her head.

Rain water oozed under her cheek where it rested against the cement.

_No, not water._ Her eyes widened, a tremor so violent that even the poison working through her system could not suppress it as terror ripped through her numbed senses. _Formaldehyde!_ She could smell it, taste it: mixing with her blood as it seeped through the cracked container of the Red Eyes that had been knocked over by her or the Spider in their fall―

_Move, move move move!_

Desperation tore at her, wracked her with ineffectual impulses that failed to jolt her body into motion. The world reduced itself to a crackling static of white and red and black. Beside her, just beyond the reach of her fingers, the Eyes were floating in a sea of darkness.

Mist flowed into them, stained by the corrupting taint of curses.

Even one drop of her blood … the moment it touched the Eyes, the bindings on them would loosen, break open and free―

Hatred still blazed inside her, a hungry beast that clawed its way to the surface one second at a time. The easy way out. _Just let it happen._ Giving in to the fire would be so simple: the sweetness of justified revenge and satisfied anger and—_I can't!_

It would be worse than death.

The Spider was turning her over, dragging her up. Helpless, her head tilted to the side as though her neck had broken. Her bleeding arm flopped limply back, and she knew it was scraping over the shattered glass casing, more cuts opening … But all she saw was the bloody, empty face of the Spider's body at the auction and all she felt was the stinging, snapping inevitability of the chain that had ended his comrade's life.

_Here it comes._

For a fraction of a second, she met his eyes – the soft, dead color of charcoal – then the curse exploded around them.

The Spider dropped her just in time, his presence vanishing from the limits of her vision as he fled.

Somewhere in the background, Gon cried out in muffled alarm.

_Gon?_

Her head cracked against the floor. Agony blossomed in the red of her eyes, lines of fire beginning to radiate out from her heart as it pulsed. Paralyzed by more than poison, Kurapika stared up into darkness through shattered skylights. Glass stabbed into the side of her neck.

_Not yet. _The fog around her swirled, drawn into the Eyes like air into a vacuum. Kurapika coughed, lungs spasming as she inhaled it. _Don't die here!_

For a second of lucid suspension and blind panic, the Kurata regained enough control to force her aura into its physical form.

A terrible sound cracked like lightning through the air.

_Breaking._

Beneath her, stone was burning. Above, the air froze. The holy chain whipped out from the ring around her thumb, its cross glowing uncertainly on the borderline of insubstantiality. Jagged flashes of heat ripped along her skin._ Don't die._ Her dead kinsman, her despised enemies, and the friends that she should never have had: hyper-awareness of their existence jolted along her nerves.

Kurapika wrenched herself to unsteady feet.

A pillar of mist and shadows rose with her.

_**All this time.**_

Hidden, lost in the mist, the Scarlet Pupils lay at her feet … but they were nothing now. Just the discarded husk of what took form before her.

_**I've been waiting for you.**_

The specter strengthened, solidified as she watched, forming and stretching human limbs and proportions. In its white, translucent body, she could see the streaks of blood that had released it. _Blood to blood._ An answering flash of crimson glowed from newly opened eyes.

_**Kill them. **_Behind her, candles flickered: an impression fire that stretched around her and the phantom in a half-circle to embrace them. A shadow of burning wings. _**Kill them.**_

In her mind, the ghost's command softened to a familiar voice – a whisper of the past, seductive and pleading.

___**Kurapika.**_


	12. The Buried Sun

_Very late, but here it is! Thank you everyone who reviewed while I was gone - it was great to come back and read all those!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>: The Buried Sun

A force like lightning charged the space between Kurapika and the wraith, thrilling her nerves and warming her face. Drops of water beaded her eyelashes, multiple refractions of the world reflected in her eyes. Icy pinpricks of rain ran down her face like tears. Before her, the spirit of the Eyes wavered … No arms, no legs yet: just a pillar of white haze, a blazing silhouette that hid a core of blackness. The dark heart of a fallen star.

Fog swirled past, ragged streamers drawn to the distortion that was their existence: a spectral, tidal pulse of the world winding backwards.

_**Kurapika.**_

Veined with her spilled blood, . Scarlet Eyes glowed in the mouthless face, the power sealed and cradled within now waking to its purpose.

_**Our purpose.**_

She could _feel_ the pull the ghost exerted on the life-energies of this place, tugging mist into itself like an indrawn breath. Exhaling nightmares and pain. Throbbing, she felt the agony burning behind her eyes spread – rippling over all coherent thought and scattering it in sparks. Crisis was breaking in her with the deep, cracking hiss of an avalanche.

_**We are the same.**_

Dark, twisted, that triumph threatened to erase all else. _Not even death could divide us!_ Her hands were shaking, her whole body was shaking, compelled and repulsed by the calamity growing under her eyes. A lost soul of her tribe was calling out. A monster, maybe … but all she had left.

_No one else shares bonds like this. _Kurapika swayed in place, off-balance in the rubble. _We stand alone at the height of the mountain!_

No one else could understand.

On the sidelines, unseen, she sensed the Ryodan gathering their power and numbers to strike. Contemptuous pity for their ignorance stabbed her. But the old resentments were stronger, made harsh by envy. _Reap what you sow! Even thieves cannot escape paying the price for their actions._ The curse would destroy them all.

_**Destroy them all,**_ her comrade's phantom voice echoed, a pleasant vibration in the back of her skull — a fiery presence, where for so long there had been only silence.

The Ryodan would never outlast the hour. If she joined hands with the ghost now—if she was willing to pay the price herself—

Vengeance was no longer a difficult, wasteful dream.

_Killua and Gon!_ Remembrance broke through her suddenly. They were still here! Were they alive? Caught between the Kurata and the Spider, they stood zero chance … She wanted to turn, to give one last warning, but her muscles refused to obey.

_I warned them already. _Resignation joined the rest of the emotions surging through her like a succession of riptides, dragging her back down every time she found a mental foothold. _I tried to tell them!_ But she hadn't wanted them to know the truth … She hadn't wanted to see the betrayal on their faces when their illusions shattered.

It was ugly. It was complicated. It was debased and spiteful and malevolent and — _evil_, in a way she had never wanted to see herself as evil.

_Hypocrite—_

Even if they were the only two here, the ghost's actions had put it far outside the sacred laws of the Kurata. Death curses were forbidden. No exceptions. Years ago, Kurapika would not have hesitated passing judgment.

_Not yet!_ A migraine beat at her temples – a sure sign that she was straining dangerously near the limit of her ability to control the red – but it was impossible now to revert to her normal state. Her clanmate – her past and future – had crawled out of hell to join with her. She could not look away.

_This is what I will become._ Her vision, stained dark and red as fire, blurred. _What I … already am._ And compared to that, compared to everything that had gone before, what were the lives of two more innocents? She couldn't be concerned with anyone else's fate right now!

On the edge of crisis, even justice seemed a clouded, distant consideration … a distraction.

_**Consume them.**_ Bleeding white mist, the phantom stared her down. _**Pour out their blood as an offering and release the curse!**_

The wraith opened its mouth, a dark hole in the blazing white of its substance. A breath of foulness licked her face; the smell of rotten meat and decay from beyond the grave. Half-blind, Kurapika realized that it was preparing to stoop, and devour her.

_This is all that is left. _Her hands reached up in chains. _Someone I once loved. _

_**Prove it in blood!**_

For some reason, the memory of the Cemetery Building flashed across her vision: the bathroom after the auction, the fake Scarlet Eyes in their glass case and her own in the mirror.

"_Eventually, everyone who participated in the massacre will die."_ The dead Spider snorted at her, a vanished, scornful witness. _"If you really cared—"_

As the gulf opened above and below her, Kurapika realized just how far she had to fall.

And, in that moment of doubt, her hands hesitated, trembled.

_**Years and years.**_Blood-stained eyes reflected one another. _**All this time in silence and darkness. Madness and regret. Solitude. Emptiness. Hunger!**_

Kurapika knew that there would be no placating this spirit – no funeral rites or offering that would bring it back to peace like the soul she had laid to rest in August. Not even the whole Ryodan would be enough, once this one had drunk blood.

_**All this suffering … I won't endure it alone.**_

The price for casting a curse after death was high, the consequences heavy. _To act against the natural order of the world is a deadly sin._ If she let go here, not only the Spider but someone she cared about would never find peace. Her own soul, as well, would also be forfeit.

_Scarlet Eyes. _She looked on them in loathing. _We suffer, for the sake of a color!_

The color of a curse.

A near-hysterical sense of purpose shot through Kurapika's system in a torrent of adrenaline. _I swore, on my soul._ _I'll never let it take you!_

* * *

><p>Mist flowed over Kuroro's boots: a river of steam pulled along the ground and then forced up into a plume that was coalescing in front of the chain-user – an inverse, humanoid shadow that had followed her up from the rubble.<p>

In over a decade of nen use and research, he had never encountered such concentrated malice vomited up as pure energy. Something dangerous – something unbelievable and deadly – was taking shape in the middle of the Ryodan's base. The crushing pressure raised the hairs on the back of his neck. _What is that?_ Not the chain-user, for sure … and barely recognizable as human.

Gut-wrenching waves of nen spilled around the Kurata and her other half like a strange, liquid fire. They stood face-to-face, turned inward and evidently as oblivious to the Spiders as the storm outside.

Kuroro, however, was more than happy to take advantage of what was doubtless only a momentary lull.

Sometime in the last minute or two, Franklin and Shalnark had arrived, Shizuku in tow, all of them soaked with rain and breathing hard; they must have sensed the disturbance and rushed back. They were halted, staring on the threshold. A few steps ahead of them, Machi and Hisoka stood rigid with tension. Even the children looked absolutely terrified.

Kuroro tapped cold fingers over the cover of his unopened skill-book. _Instinctive, primal aversion. _The natural reaction of prey confronted by predator. He felt it too, though it didn't paralyze him like the others.

Despite the drumming rain, the hotel trembled with silence … a sharp, crystalline absence of human speech that no one wanted to break.

But they really couldn't afford to get caught up in the moment. _Plenty of time to analyze this _after_ we defeat it._

"Shizu—"

The girl shook her head, vacuum-cleaner already in hand. "Deme-chan says it's alive, Dancho."

_And Deme-chan won't take in living things._ Kuroro nodded in acknowledgement, absorbing the implications. The intuitive, if unlikely, conclusion was that they were dealing with some form of latent nen – possibly a curse or phenomena unique to the Kurata clan. Something that could technically qualify as 'alive' while still being quite evidently not.

_Is this what killed Ubo?_ He'd bet there was only one person who knew everything. The trick would be keeping her alive long enough to torture the answers out of her.

"Machi, Shal." He divided up the work quickly. "Take the one on the right. Franklin, Shizu: cover me."

_So, how many dangers are here?_ Kuroro wondered, the Scarlet Eyes brooding sightlessly at him through the transparent, smoky base of what served as the nen-monster's body. _In the predictions, how many different ways are there to die?_

He didn't care – as long as the Spider survived.

"Move on my mark."

Beside him, his subordinates shifted, getting ready to charge.

"Three."

The chain-user was lifting her hands to the phantom, like a child expecting to be picked up.

"Two."

Horrible, a mouth opened above her … but even then she did not flinch.

"Go!"

Franklin unleashed a hail of covering fire, obliterating the frozen silence in a crackle of guns.

* * *

><p>Kurapika pitched herself backwards. Glowing bullets crashed through the air and ground she had just fled, a wash of hot, acrid air scalding her heels as she barely escaped an ignominious death. A quick twist of her wrists and she pivoted off of the column behind her, swinging herself around its base and into protective cover.<p>

Sounds echoed, muffled and distorted through the columns: the Ryodan rushing into battle, heedless that they ran towards their deaths. Her hand clenched around its chains.

_The entirety of the Ryodan — _without even lifting a finger, she could witness their fall. A trickle of blood seeped into the edge of one ragged sleeve from where her nails bit into her palms.

Glowing lights streaked through the fog, diffuse and refracted signs of battle. But no one was paying attention to Kurapika. Even the ghost had released her. Raising red eyes, she glared into nothing.

_I'm better than this! _

Pride anchored her, cleared a space in her mind for calculation and plans. _To have hesitated, and almost lost sight of my self … Unforgivable. _Contempt and self-loathing joined the rest of the negative emotions strangling her heart.

Another explosion of bullets rattled the ground beyond her cover with debris.

But nothing the Spiders did could make a difference. She could taste blood now, biting savagely into her own lip _Nothing made of nen will harm this spirit._ Quite the opposite, in fact; the wraith would be able to draw on the forces seeking to dispel it. The very strength that the Ryodan trusted to protect them would twist around to sting them like a serpent.

Disoriented, she realized that her eyes were unfocused and her attention scattering; all her defenses lowered, stripped away in the presence of her lost comrade. But that was wrong. There were other forces at work here. She couldn't afford to waste time on herself.

_Stay cold,_ she chanted internally … even as she sensed a foreign presence approaching. _Cold, and calm as the mountain._

At the last second, Kurapika vaulted up the side of the column, a quick loop of chains speeding her ascent as she pushed off with both feet and twisted in midair: facing back the way she had come.

Even as she fell back down to earth the column slid apart, sheared neatly into pieces by some invisible, razor force. Splinters of stone rained down through the fog.

Cat-like, the Kurata landed on her feet.

Something hissed through the fog.

Her hand lashed sideways. A tiny missile – a dart of some sort, charged with nen – plinked, bouncing off the links of the dowsing chain and spinning away, out of sight.

A woman, blue-haired and stone-faced, was standing in the ruins of a sheltering column, vibrating lengths of wire or thread stretching between her fingers. From one side, Kurapika glimpsed the other Spider – a young man with a worried, boyish face – emerging from the fog.

She warned him off with a quick strike of the dowsing chain.

"Hey!" he called, hopping backwards from the blow. "You're the chain-user who killed Ubo, right?" He grinned, a mechanical baring of teeth. "Well, I guess that's obvious."

The weighted ball flew back to Kurapika's fist, its chain wrapping around her knuckles. In her other hand, the hilt of the Spider's discarded knife was slippery with blood.

* * *

><p>Terror roiled in Killua's stomach, nothing compared to the sickening aura seething through the inside of the Ryodan's lair. <em>This bad and I'm not even close to it!<em> The Spider who had caught him and Gon had ditched them, leaving them tied by the wrists to the door frame. Kurapika had also disappeared, though he caught sight of the occasional Spider stalking through the mist. The Zaoldyek told himself that he trusted his friend … _But!_

Acid filled his mouth, tasting like vomit.

A sharp _twang_ behind him jolted his already jumpy nerves. Killua stared, shocked, at his suddenly free hands. A severed length of wire slid away from his wrists. Something had slashed right through it.

_Hisoka!_ The Joker card twirled before his eyes, pinched between long, sharp-nailed fingers.

The Zaoldyek in him screamed for an immediate escape – to flee into the rain outside and disappear as he had been trained to do all his life – or at least check on his best friend, who had slipped into some kind of shock at the sight of whatever monster had almost eaten Kurapika … Instead, his misfiring brain got hung up on trivialities. _This pressure is insane! How can Hisoka even move?_

The lunatic must have caught what he was thinking. He smiled, leaning down to whisper in Killua's ear.

"The dead are boring."

_Boring!_ Killua could smell the stink of his own else – maybe even Gon – was _insane_. Not even Illumi at his most vindictive would chase a target in here!

_If even the Genei Ryodan looked freaked out! Kurapika, what are you jumping in for? _The Zaoldyek suppressed his wonder she had been so adamant about keeping secrets from them. _I didn't know nen like this existed!_

During the lowest three seconds of his life, he just stood there – a puppet with its strings cut.

* * *

><p>Stretched around her, near-invisible strings of nen threaded the columns – a web of razor wires hindering her movement. Kurapika traced the pattern with her eyes. She could see them by the faint lines they drew in the eddies of fog, and hear them by the faint, high squeak of vibration as the Spider drew her fingers along their length.<p>

More pillars rose up all around them like a stone forest, a maze of broken marble and sheet-rock and steel rivets. The air tasted cold and salty – a whisper of the ocean – and familiar. The Kurata inhaled deeply, and held it.

_**Destroy.**_ The ghost's whisper grated against her nerves, whining across her awareness until she forcibly shut it out.

Another dart from the second, elusive enemy, sped at her through the fog again.

Kurapika detected it at the last second, throwing herself full-length backwards. The weapon buzzed through the air over her head … and she fell right into the first Spider's trap.

Jerked off her feet, the Kurata whirled through a chaos of mist and stone and air — that resolved itself into the cold, hard lines of the blue-haired Spider's face.

Dangling upside down before her in a tangle of wires, Kurapika twisted furiously. She could feel the circulation leaving her limbs as the lines cut into her flesh. Urgency bit into her even more sharply. _No time to waste! _The dowsing chain punched straight out, aimed for the Spider's hands. Wires tightened, sliding around to tug the chain off-course, tangling it in a tight cocoon.

The Spider grabbed Kurapika by the hair, yanking her body straight to remove slack from the bonds.

"Dancho wants you alive," the blue-haired Spider informed her, toneless. "Give up, and I won't remove any limbs."

Blood rushed to the Kurata's head, a crackling darkness across her eyes … but she could hear the rustle of fabric, and smell something that might be soap.

_Now!_

Her left wrist snapped down awkwardly in its restraints, the Spider boss's knife flashing from concealment in her sleeve.

Blood spattered Kurapika's cheek.

Wide amber eyes stared in surprise, the most expressive reaction the woman had betrayed throughout their brief duel. Embedded in her shoulder, the barbed curves of the poisoned blade gleamed. Her throat worked, trying to force speech, but paralysis was already taking hold of her muscles. Soundless, she folded and dropped to the floor.

Kurapika fell a second later as the nen-wires around her body snapped in a set of discordant, musical vibrations.

_That's what you get,_ she thought coldly, _for paying too much attention to the opponent's nen._

"Machi!"

Her partner's shout betrayed his position — Kurapika pulled the knife free and spun to deflect a pair of darts in two curving, slashing motions.

Against the white backdrop, the Spider made a good target. Without missing a beat, she threw the knife straight at his face.

He ducked, pitching flat into the slim cover of a broken pillar.

But the weapon's trajectory curved up over his head, guided by an unseen length of chain wrapped around the grip. Even as he dove behind the improvised barricade, the knife plunged down – slicing diagonally across his back.

Rigid and immobile, the body hit the floor with a muffled thud.

_And that's what happens when you don't._

She didn't have time to indulge in the satisfaction of removing them so quickly from her path, though. Numb, she found herself emotionless, every breath tasting of kerosene and ashes. _Blood._ Her skin was on fire with a thousand tiny abrasions and cuts. A jerk of her fingers, and the knife was back in her hand. Chains rattled at her fist. Unhindered now, Kurapika turned to the next obstacle.

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long time, Kuroro found himself completely frustrated.<p>

His blow hit the creature approximately around the neck – or at least close to the top of the weird lump that opened up into a gaping maw of darkness – targeting a point that _should_ have been weakened by Franklin's latest salvo. But some sort of shield, invisible even to gyou, prevented him from touching the target.

Even a nen-powered fist didn't connect solidly … he could feel the impact turning aside, _inches_ away from the place it should have sheared straight through.

Strangely, though, the white thing warped and swelled on its side of the barrier. The pale surface slit open, confronting him with a sudden, fuming red eye. Kuroro froze, surprised, and the eye blinked at him – just once – then closed again.

What should have been a significant wound bubbled, bursting outward into a malformed, hooked appendage.

He ducked as it scythed overhead.

_Dammit._

The monster tugged at his aura even as he retreated, wisps of power peeling away from what should have been a flawless shield around his body. His power was getting _eaten_: absorbed and spat back out as a clumsy imitation. If it had been a little more elegant, he might have admired the technique … but there was no skill involved here, just a mindless, thrashing aggression.

He was fascinated with his own visceral aversion to it.

Fickle, the mist cleared to show him Shizuku not too far away, spinning the fanged nozzle of her vacuum in a circle. A ridiculous expression of concentration sat oddly on her face. _What is she even trying to hit?_ Ordinarily, Kuroro would have paused to amuse himself with banter … but no matter how quick this fight _should_ have ended, it dragged on.

The Spider didn't need to gain more distance to understand that their mark was reflecting the nature of the original attacks – his one-handed blows turned to sheeting scythes; Shizuku's vacuum-cleaner imitated by club-like arms.

First a single, inhuman eye would open where the blow should have landed, then it would close and the body would deform into a new appendage. The creature even seemed to be _eating_ Franklin's bullets, feeding them down into the swelling armor that protected its base from attack.

_Of course, it could just be storing them up for a return barrage._

The monster itself wasn't particularly powerful, and its aim was _atrocious_ for something spawned by a pair of eyeballs … but it simply refused to cave to their pressure. About the size of a man, the creature had split off several reaching, waving limbs. Fortunately none had grown hands capable of grasping the Spiders or make-shift weapons.

_Like it can't decide whether to be a human, or a child's nightmare._

Kuroro dodged another one, playing for time to think.

_Dammit._ Instead of protecting him, thin streamers of his aura got siphoned off every time he touched the thing: a black hole that drew in nen. The drain might not be serious now, but in a very short time he would be in trouble. _The very fact that something can do this, apparently without conditions or sentient will … more than disturbing, it's downright terrifying._

None of the offensive skills stored in his book had dealt damage greater than the creature's capacity to absorb and heal; by this point, he was too cautious to pull out any of his truly superior abilities for fear they would turn against him. '_Pages from all the years past,'_ he thought with an ironic twist of his mouth. Who knew how many layers of meaning were really carried in Neon's predictions, after all? And whether or not the Spider had already lost its chance to escape York Shin.

Kuroro sacrificed another small portion of his aura to land another unarmed blow against the side of its head.

The monster shrieked, and less than a second later he had to duck away from the thrash of its counter-attack; getting caught would mean losing a lot more of his aura than he wanted to spare. _Probably, it would drain me dry – literally sucking my life force from me and discarding the body like an empty bottle._

Time to change strategies.

* * *

><p>For once since entering York Shin, Kurapika knew exactly what she needed to do. <em>Get past the Ryodan. Protect the boys. Then restore the Eyes to their rightful state.<em> It was that simple.

Once she'd made that decision, everything had snapped into perfect, lucid alignment.

So she closed the distance between her and the Ryodan's secret traitor without fear. Coming into focus through obscuring veils of fog, the clown's expression remained unreadable. Killua stood free but completely frozen beside him; Gon half-hung, stunned by one thing or another, from the magician's deceptively tenuous grip.

"_Anyone who helps you is going to get killed!"_ Leorio's voice shouted in her mind.

She had run from that, because it was true. _Foolish._ The truth could not be outrun. This must be her punishment for reaching too high, for thinking that her friends wouldn't follow just because she had turned her back. Kurapika wanted to be alone, because she didn't want anyone to be left behind when she died. _But it was too late the moment I thought of Gon and Leorio and Killua as my comrades._ Most of all, she didn't want to be left behind herself.

_I don't want to dig any more graves._

Hisoka let her walk right up to him, not even batting an eyelash as she stared up into his painted face with a direct challenge.

"Disappointing," he announced, suddenly.

Kurapika ignored his mockery. The knife flashed between them as she raised it. _Your choice,_ she addressed him silently. _Do you throw in your lot with one side or another, or do you take the way out I am offering?_

He didn't even twitch when she drove the point of the knife into the back of his hand.

Instead he licked the drops of blood from the cut, a wet flash of tongue and teeth. Disgust ran clammy hands down her spine at his smile.

Even as he fell past her, Hisoka twisted a little to whisper in her ear.

"Don't become boring."

Only a breath, and then the magician was collapsed on his face – voluntarily removed from the equation.

Kurapika didn't waste another second's consideration on him and whatever sick game he thought they were playing.

Hauling Gon up by the back of his jacket, she shoved his limp form into Killua's arms. The Zaoldyek accepted the burden blankly, staring at her with a glazed look of horror. She could smell the sweat on him — an unusual reaction, given his typical, cocky attitude.

"Killua!" she barked, as loudly as she dared.

He blinked, slowly, first at her … then at the hand that had a lax hold on Gon. His fingers tightened reflexively. As his blue eyes cleared, she could hear his wits returning with an almost audible click.

"Get him out of here," she ordered the Zaoldyek. "Don't come back."

He started to object, and she shook his shoulder sharply.

"There's no way you'll survive this!" Kurapika let go as he started to brush her hands off. "You understand?"

But she didn't wait for an answer, acutely aware that the mist provided only thin, treacherous concealment for this minor delay. The Ryodan, or the curse, could be upon them any second. The beat of guns still echoed from deeper in the Spider's lair, and she could _feel_ the wraith feeding, growing stronger … _No time to waste! _She pushed the boys towards the threshold, the three of them stumbling awkwardly across the uneven terrain.

A few seconds of eternity, and she finally got them to the exit.

Rain streaked her face as the wind blew it through the swinging door, mixing with the Spider's blood to run down the skin of her cheek and throat.

In her imagination it burned hotter than fire.

At the very edge of safety, Killua dug in his heels unexpectedly. "Kura—"

"Just go."

For a second, he looked at her … then his glance sped further in, to whatever the curse and the Spiders were doing to each other.

"You're a lost cause, you know," Killua hissed as he ducked across the threshold. "Keep going this way, and you won't even be human."

_Was I ever?_ she wondered emptily as she watched the tell-tale marker of his white hair disappear into the rain and fog outside. _I don't remember that feeling._ And this time the bitterness that flooded her was mixed with a sense of desolation. Her throat was full of cut-glass regrets. _So much has been lost._

She couldn't even hate the Spiders in peace.

* * *

><p>Franklin was easy to find – Kuroro just tracked the sound and trajectory of his guns. The big man circled the battle proper from some distance, firing repeatedly into the fog. Like Kuroro himself, he had abandoned line-of-sight for the more general, and accurate, sense of <em>that terrible aura over there<em>.

"Dancho," the gunner nodded, not easing up on his machine-guns. Detachable finger-tips swung from the truncated ends of his knuckles.

"I need a distraction," Kuroro said, not bothering to explain.

His follower just nodded again.

A hailstorm of bullets rattled outward with a rapid, popping stutter. Barely seen through the haze, one of the remaining pillars burst apart in chunks and shards of cement. Under cover of the clamor, Kuroro suppressed his aura and slid away into the mist.

Hidden, he prowled through the columns – relying on his mental map of this place to supply all the information he needed to navigate the difficult, uncertain terrain.

Distorted crashes and banging sounds echoed off of unseen walls and columns. _If Pakunoda and the others arrive now _… he shrugged the possibility off. His subordinates knew better than to run into an unknown situation without doing a little reconnaissance. Surely not even Nobu would be foolish enough to charge through such an unpredictable battleground.

_Unpredictable._ A slightly sour smile curdled his lips. _Right._ One of Neon's stolen fortunes rustled in his pocket.

The grand-staircase loomed up out of the fog, steps rising to some unknown height. Kuroro walked to the dead center, then turned his back. Careful to keep his course straight, despite the confusing wash of haze, the Spider crept straight down the middle corridor of the lobby.

_The chain-user stood here,_ he remembered – thinking back over what now seemed like a routine skirmish – stopping to peer into the mist. Without his aura to improve his vision, piercing the cloud was more difficult than he'd thought.

_Have I grown too dependent on nen?_ He filed the idea away for further consideration. Now really wasn't the place to be second-guessing himself, though.

He caught sight of the wraith, the sickening glow of its insubstantial form refracting through a swirl of mist. As he'd hoped, it hadn't moved from the place where it had first come into being. The nose-prickling smell of preservatives still washed over the area, faintly overlaid by blood.

_No time like the present._ His aura burst into full extension, a solid concentration of it forming the skill-book in his grasp.

The steady drum of Franklin's guns cut out, but it didn't matter because Kuroro had already teleported his prize _out_ of the shadow body of the creature.

A strange, abrasive sensation grated against him … the warmth of his aura peeling away, stripped from his body even as he thrust his empty hand through the glass-fanged front of the broken case. _Only seconds._ His hand closed over the physical Scarlet Eyes, their tissue damp and slimy against his skin.

"_No!"_

The mist cleared and he became aware of the chain-user on one side – her hand outstretched in a futile gesture, snatching at air – and the wraith on the other, giant imitations of the crimson eyes opening all over its pale, incorporeal body.

Darkness sprayed between his fingers like blood from a fatal wound.

* * *

><p>Kurapika doubled-over in pain<p>

_No!_ Her voice cracked out in the sound of a breaking bone: a wordless expression of pain eclipsed by the sudden howl of the ghost. The fragile defenses she had put into place against its voice shredded like lace under a knife._ Burn them and break the seal ― Damn us to this hell ― create and unleash the curse!_

In her mind, a demon was laughing.

* * *

><p>Darkness flushed through the white substance of the wraith confronting him. Kuroro's teeth went on edge. High and thin, childish, a voice wailed through the arches of the decaying room. It felt like icicles being shoved into his ears, or nails being driven into his brain.<p>

Something long-dead squished in his hand – a burst of rotten, chemical smells. Fluid oozed down his wrist.

Rearing up like a serpent, the malevolent aura gathered and split into a disgustingly attenuated, humanoid shape. Its form took his breath for a second: a bulbous head and shrunken, knobbly limbs … the stretched and distended appearance of a starving child. Crouching over him, its eyes burning balefully down, the surface of the living shadow convulsed and bubbled as it twisted its top into something hideously like a face.

That mouth opened again – lined with fire and spitting smoke and red sparks onto him.

Before he could even process the motion, the jaws snapped down. The hand that held his skill book was torn away.

Kuroro stared, shocked, at the bleeding stump.

Only for a second, though. Then he leaped backwards, stumbling over broken rocks as he landed a barely safe distance away.

A delayed sensation of pain ripped through him in a torrent of cold fire.

His other hand came up to stem the flow of blood … then paused as he realized that the crushed remains of the Scarlet Pupils were still smeared all over his – _remaining_ – fingers and palm. A horrified disgust he had never felt before flooded down his spine.

Inside the creature, he could still see both his hand and the skill-book, suspended in its dark, liquid body. It was impossible, though, because that book did not exist unless he willed it. Somehow, though, it was still there. The shock of whatever was being done to his aura hurt worse than death.

The covers burst open, pages tearing loose and shredding.

_My life's work,_ he thought – growing curiously numb. _My great collection._

But the loss was more than that. Something vital had been stripped away from him with his nen, leaving behind a heaviness of body. A hollowness of soul.

_Machi, Shal, Franklin, Shizu, Hisoka … _He sensed their auras scattered, weak and stationary and slipping away. _Dying._

Kuroro realized that he was alone.

Something whipped out of the fire and rain behind him.

His evasive dash turned into an uncharacteristic stumble as he was yanked off his feet. Under the demonic screech that filled the hall, not even Kuroro could hear the slam of his body hitting the base of the stairs. Sparks crackled over his vision, but he could sense the sudden, unexpected presence of another person landing a few feet away.

Chains bit into the corners of his mouth, tasting of metal and blood.

His vision cleared just in time to see the chain-user's fist right before she punched him in the face.

* * *

><p>"<em>The land of the living is no place for the dead,"<em> her teacher had told her, repeating it over and over in face of increasingly desperate denials. _"People may reject their fate, but rejection of the truth leads to all sorts of terrible consequences."_

Kurapika pounded the Spider into stone, inflicting as much pain as possible with her bare hands.

"_People may even become demons."_

The curse. She backed off, releasing her hold on his coat but not the chain that bound him. _Not yet._ A migraine beat at her temples – a sure sign that she was straining dangerously near the limit of her ability to control the red – but it was impossible now to revert to her normal state.

A whiplash of thought tightened the links of her chain-jail with paralyzing force, and the Spider stopped moving with a barely perceptible breath of pain.

_Forever,_ she prayed viciously. _Suffer and die in chains, you son of a bitch._

_**Suffer and die.**_

Cold, freezing in her own flesh and blood, Kurapika turned to look.

The ghost stood at her shoulder.

Spasming inside its hazy silhouette, outlined in fire, the Spider's stolen hand jerked … closed into a fist around something red and bloody and beating like a heart. Skin and muscle unwound, ribbons of color and form that wrapped up – around – to clothe a new body in the illusion of flesh.

Where a phantom had stood, a man stood now … though the incarnation was unfinished, imperfect. A lack of color shot through some of his limbs, reality washing out into mist for seconds at a time. But Kurapika recognized him. Could have called him by name. Could have rushed to embrace him, sobbed into his shoulder for the joy and horror of it all.

The man clasped a skeletal hand, the bones wrapped in leaf after leaf of paper, between both of his own. _The Spider's._ A choking, repulsive aura washed over him, splashing down to the ground like a terrible, liquid fire. He was less than an arm's length away. Within her reach. Within reach of the Spider.

The world spun through the stars, but they stood at the center of the wheel: a place where the universe's laws could not quite hold sway … where time turned backwards as well as forwards.

_'Where three roads meet—'_ Neon's prediction haunted her.

But the person before her was receding; she could feel the distance between them growing again, the darkness waiting to rush in and devour them both. Every breath of mist and energy the spirit took in this half-body would bind it more firmly in place … until there was no chance of separation from its chosen host. _Until freedom disappears._ At her side, Kurapika's chains rattled.

Before long, the comrade she had fought so hard to reconnect with would be consumed by it: drowning in the guilt of the Spider's stolen power … There would be nothing left but a mindless beast, driven mad by its own uncontrolled fury. A debased creature, incapable of anything but slaughter.

_I'll never let that happen to you,_ she promised. _I'll never let your eyes be stained by that mark of indelible sin._ Straightening out of her protective curl, the Kurata flexed her fingers. _I won't let that be our fate!_

The link of nen was only the easiest way to draw the Spider's soul into death. The curse had taken his hand first because he'd taken its other solid, physical anchor away. _The Scarlet Eyes._ The ghost had replaced them with the Spider's hand: the temptation of all his nen focused on that book too great to be denied.

_Now, of course, the rest of him must follow._

As she expected, her comrade lunged forward, mouth opening to devour.

Her hand jerked, pulling the man away. Like a child snatching meat from a dog. He tripped as she dragged him backwards up the stairs, heavy boots faltering over the steps. Under other circumstances, how she would have enjoyed tormenting him.

_Don't lose the path!_ Vengeful fantasies would only put her in more danger of being possessed.

Confused, the ghost was shaking itself: a half-physical manifestation still unused and unsuited to the limitations of physics and gravity and living, breathing motion. A suggestion of awareness disturbed the blank red of its eyes. Reorienting itself to the Spider's new, precarious position, it tried again.

Another lunge, another jerking retreat. Step by step, they ascended the grand staircase.

Growing more conscious with every second, the dead Kurata's brilliant eyes traced the connection, slow and deliberate, between the Spider and Kurapika. The chain glinted cold, heavy for all its slender appearance, against her finger.

She bit her lip.

_This is mine._ She felt demon's attention on her, heavy and dark as a nightmare. _My responsibility, my choice. _

"I wish to see the curse come to an end." Her voice rasped in her throat, the words coming without planning or forethought. "I have come here, believing you also desire this."

Paper rustled between bone and finger as the ghost tightened his hold on the severed hand.

"The Spider's power cannot free you," Kurapika realized, even as she spoke the words, that the knowledge disappointed her as well. "Nor will you benefit by their destruction." Her left hand, the one without chains, reached out in supplication. "Won't you let go? Take my hand instead."

Lips worked around words, the noise of them warped and distant as an underwater song. But Kurapika understood, through the connection that bound Kurata to each other from birth, the message as though it were carved on her mind.

_**No.**_

Undeterred, Kurapika shook her head. At her ear, she felt the crystal ornament swinging.

Three quick steps past the Spider and she laid a hand on those of the ghost, where they clasped the his finger-bones to the heart. Forever, though, the living and the dead could not quite meet … Her fingers slid against that invisible wall, the line that divided one from another.

"I have always been with you." Her voice was the barest whisper now, the slightest disturbance of the mist still flowing out of the spirit before her. "Please. Don't."

_Don't go where I cannot follow!_

Fire laced up her arm, and Kurapika stared down – at where a sheaf of paper, manipulated by nen and folded into a spike, had pierced straight through her hand.

_**What blood colored eyes most want to see is blood. **_Drops of crimson splattered on the ground between them; smeared the writing on the paper. _**Suffering desires to be returned, sevenfold.**_

More conical spikes erupted, the power of nen breaching the border that soul and body could not. Kurapika snatched herself away from their razor edges – stumbling backwards. She stared, horrified, across the space between them. So short, so infinite, a distance.

The ghost looked back at her, its eyes flaming pits, its mouth pouring black smoke into the mist. Kurapika saw no expression, no recognition, in that face. Whatever she had been searching for, whatever she hoped to find … it did not exist in York Shin.

The pain of that seared her — the blow she had been fearing since the massacre, since the moment she realized what had happened to the souls of her clan. Certain kinds of innocence could never be reclaimed, never be restored. She had always known it, raged against it.

_**All will come to ruin – in fire and hate!**_

There would be no calling this spirit back from madness.

* * *

><p>Kuroro, contrary to common sense, kept his eyes pinned on the expressions darting like lightning across the chain-user's face. Her recent maneuvering with the ghost had put them side-by-side at the top of the stairs – altering the composition of the battlefield in a subtle shift of alignment. Right now, she stood closer to him than to her dead friend.<p>

_Or,_ he amended, _perhaps not such a friend after all._ He never had considered that she'd want the Crimson Eyes for anything more than sentiment. _A miscalculation._ Whatever was going on here, it was far more complex than the vendetta he'd envisioned.

_Alternatively, she's just crazy._ It was a distinct possibility.

He didn't know what the girl behind him saw in the bubbling, amorphous face of that creature … or what sign it had given that made her think it could respond to her words. _Then again,_ he snorted, _think of the response it did give. More eloquent and persuasive than words._

Larger than even a giant of Ubo's size, the light of the candles no longer shone through it or reflected off its surface. Instead, the monster seemed to absorb light … a black mass that flowed up, over the steps after them with jerking, inhuman movements; a presence marked more by the _absence_ of what should be there, rather than what shouldn't.

Since he could see it even without nen enhancing his sight, Kuroro concluded that it had fully crossed the metaphorical border between life and death.

A physical incarnation of destruction.

"Kurata," he addressed her directly for the first time.

Red smeared one cheek from an unseen cut … other than that, and the singed holes in her sleeves, she appeared to be miraculously unharmed. The only able-bodied person currently capable of stopping the ghost from ripping his Spider limb from limb.

Three seconds ago, an alliance wouldn't even have been a possibility. But in this moment, he could see the rejection stinging through her, the betrayal written on her half-averted face … signs that her internal balance could still be swayed in the Ryodan's favor. At the very least, she might inadvertently drop some information.

"Kurata," he repeated again, patient.

The chain pinning his elbows to his sides clanged between them. _But there's an advantage in this prison as well._ His injured arm was bound tight against his ribcage, the chain working as a make-shift tourniquet. Not perfect, but it was probably the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.

The blond hadn't done it on purpose … but the fact that she had him in chains like this was a favorable sign: you didn't bother tying up people you had no use for. Even if, thus far, she had only used him as bait. The dead monster was half-way up the stairs now, a steadily moving shadow in the mist. He could hear the liquid slap of its feet on the stairs.

"Kurata."

_Work with me._

For a second, he thought she would continue to ignore his voice. Then she whirled to face him, her gaze skating up to study his face: a swift, arrogant tilt of her head.

"What's your name?"

The Spider raised a brow at the flat, commanding tone, but he answered anyway.

"Kuroro Lucifer."

Blood streaked her face like tears. _An angel of murder, or mercy? _Kuroro met her eyes –– they burned as though she had swallowed the sun. _The seventh wonder of the world._ He had wanted it for himself, once.

"Kuroro Lucifer," she repeated, closing her eyes and lips on the sounds as though to trap them.

Her hand rose to rest, almost gently, against his chest; eyes the color of a mortal, bleeding wound met his without flinching.

"Go to hell."

She shoved him backwards.

* * *

><p>Kurapika watched Kuroro Lucifer fall. Everything she had ever wanted: the Spider bleeding on the ground, the Ryodan collapsing … Every savage, nightmarish dream that had sustained her through the darkest hours was true. Here, tonight. She'd felt the heartbeat of their leader, their mastermind, under the palm of her hand.<p>

_With my bare hands—I can bring them down._

_**Bring them down.**_

At her feet, Kuroro Lucifer was trying to get back up. She could taste the metal sweetness of blood on the air.

She strung him up, the chain-jail dragging tight between the balustrades at the top of the stairs. The Spider's leader hung powerless in the center, his feet barely scraping the upper step. Standing behind him, she could see a reversed cross on his coat. Blood stained both their hands.

Kurapika closed her eyes and presented him as an offering to the dead of her clan.

* * *

><p>Chains bit into the corners of his mouth around a tired, morbid smile. At least, Kuroro reflected, his death-scene would be worth a classic tragedy or two after all.<p>

The Kurata had been tricky, far more persistent than he'd given her credit for even after _knowing_ she was the one who took out Ubo – a man three times her size with decades more experience. A deceptive, daring opponent: more than a match for any one Spider. They should have gotten out of York Shin when they had the chance … Kuroro let it go with a sudden, rueful flicker of defeated humor.

_I'm going to die here._

The thought didn't disturb him much: death was just one more transition, after all. Not really an ending or a beginning, as he believed. _Evidently._ The edge of his amusement was biting with self-mockery.

The only thing he regretted was the possibility that the rest of the Spider would follow him into the afterlife. But if even one Spider survived, then the Ryodan could be rebuilt – stronger and wiser for the defeat. He had designed the autonomous structure of the organization for exactly this kind of no-win situation. Except in the face of total annihilation, the Spider was strong enough to be reborn over and over again.

_The Spider will live._

Kuroro looked down at the unnatural, uneven advance of the curse that would kill him, and smiled.

Its head rose over the top step: a bubbling, misshapen oval without distinguishing features save an over-sized mouth. The rest of the body heaved itself up to stand before Kuroro. Freed, evidently, of the limitations of the Scarlet Eyes, the creature had attempted to resume a more humanoid shape … without marked success. The vestiges of humor left the Spider at the sight.

This was not a way he would have chosen to die.

The dead Kurata reached for him, mouth opening to eclipse the rest of its face, and―

Kuroro was flung forward, pitched right over the thing's head in a clashing hiss of metal as the chains binding him unwound. Control and feeling flooded back. Upside-down, he twisted in midair to see that the Kurata had taken his place in the center of a closing web of chains.

Their eyes met as he fell through the mist, and Kuroro thought he had never seen such a look of pure, unadulterated bitterness.

Darkness covered her face as the monster swallowed her.

Concrete crunched beneath his body as the fog closed in, blinding him with a searing flash of pain.

But someone in that whiteness – the chain-user or her creature, or maybe Kuroro himself – was screaming.

* * *

><p>She could have snapped his neck.<p>

Just because it was unthinkable to let the curse consume a Spider's full power, to possess his body and rampage through the world of the living, to let the Spider be bound in hell and eternity to one of her lost, precious comrades … She still could have strangled him, broken his spine or his remaining limbs even as she saved him from being devoured.

Instead, she had snatched him away – flinging him off the trash he was.

Kurapika tasted blood, and the wooden pulp of paper. Its smooth texture sealed her mouth shut on a scream. Page after page rustled over her face. '_Nen_,' she read on the page covering her right eye. '_To know the future._'

But no one could steal from time.

The curse was killing her, the aura of its stolen power smothering. For a second she choked, lungs rejecting the foulness of what little air remained. Clumsy, malformed limbs thrashed around her, the nen-pages wrapping her in a papery shroud and slicing her with razor edges … but she could feel the touch of the ghost even through that thin, crisping barrier.

Having lost the Spider, it had decided to take her instead.

Senses warped and expanded, flashing outward. For an agonized second of eternity, she could sense _everything ―_ Gon and Killua, escaped and running; the Spiders, fallen and frozen and helpless … and the monster hungry for blood: the hot, sweet and bitter taste of killing and death and stolen _life_ that should be on his tongue – _her_ tongue …

The darkness pulsed with the same rhythm as her heart.

Stone broke underneath her back as she was smashed down the stairs, flailed back and forth like a fish being beaten to death by a particularly vicious octopus. A warning stab of agony meant that one or two of her ribs had begun to break … though she was long past caring.

Overhead, something in the roof gave a deep, ominous crack.

The chain-jail pierced paper and stolen flesh, burrowing to find the Spider's lost appendage.

Fiery pages clung to her skin, burning as the curse tried to eat through flesh and blood to the bone and marrow beneath. _Don't be consumed!_ Something half-forgotten within her refused to fall here: the same persistent, unreasoning spark that had sustained her through the days after the massacre. She swallowed bile.

Then her chain touched the Spider's severed hand, the hook jittering across it. One last effort and she yanked it into her own grasp. The wraith dropped her to the ground beside the stairwell, losing coherence of form.

Triumphant, Kurapika staggered to her feet, holding her bizarre, macabre trophy. Under her fingers, she felt the stolen power returning to clothe it in its natural flesh. Pages crumpled into cinders around her, red flashes of fire fading immediately to pale ash. They flaked away from her skin, leaving long smudges of black ash on her hair and clothes and skin.

Losing contact with the source of his power, the ghost writhed terribly – a heart of darkness veined with steel, burning within and without.

Inside, Kurapika burned with it.

"_Let thy scarlet eyes be the witness,"_ she whispered, fingers and chains twining around the dead fist as she pried it open. _"Mine unto thine."_

Stiff, still-warm fingers yielded to hers, opening to reveal a pair of blood-tainted eyes.

The Kurata stumbled backwards, against the splintery stacks of wooden boxes: a stolen hoard of worthless riches. The ghost was dragged with her by the Eyes in her fist, denied escape or reprieve even as it screamed. Pools and streaks of wax were melting around them like blood leeched of color. Chips of stone pattered down onto her head and shoulders … crumbling pieces of the destabilized roof.

_Don't be afraid – Killua, Gon._ One last, stubborn goad of pride kept Kurapika upright. The few surviving candles flickered uncertainly at her feet. _I choose to be human after all._

A portion of the roof slid, fracturing into pieces, to bury her and the curse together.


	13. Equal, Opposite, Collinear

_Thank you everyone who reviewed!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: <strong>Equal, Opposite, Collinear

Killua dragged Gon through broken buildings, never-to-be-forgotten instincts of stealth and survival keeping them both alive as shadows in the rain. The weird fog that had blanketed the Spider's lair melted away only ten meters outside the building … He wasn't sure what that meant. _But I'm not stupid enough to stick around like a dumbass._ The Zaoldyek intended to get both him and his friend through this alive. Even if it meant leaving someone else behind.

_She wanted to stay,_ he snapped at the quiet, accusing little voice that said he'd just abandoned Kurapika to a lonely death. His grip clenched down on Gon's wrist. _She knew what she was doing!_

A loud crash interrupted his recriminations, coming from somewhere behind them. _Not my problem—_

Unexpectedly, he found himself jerked to a halt.

"Gon—?"

"I'm going back."

Killua's heart sank as he took in the fierce, determined scowl on the other boy's face. His feet were planted squarely, digging into the gritty mud of a gutter and refusing to budge. Obviously, he really meant what he'd just said.

"Why? Let Kurapika make her own decisions."

Yeah, it was a cold attitude – but it was a realist's attitude. The kind of thinking your family pitched you into mortal danger in order to develop. At least, if your family was Zaoldyek.

"It's no good," insisted Gon firmly, twisting his wrist out of Killua's grasp and marching back the way they'd just come. "It's no good to fight like this."

"Like what?" Killua demanded, scrambling after him. "Hey, what are you thinking?"

Autumn rain beat down on his head, sliding through his hair and down the back of his neck. Buildings gave way to one another in a melting confusion of broken walls and empty doorways and shattered windows. All his work getting them through the kill-zone around the Spider's hideout, and they were going back in for a third brush with death. Mist puffed out from his footsteps, curling up from the ground. They were getting close.

"Oi, Gon," he called, trying to pitch his voice just right so that the splashing rain would cover it up. Seeing Gon about to round the corner of the next building, however, he reached out and hauled him backwards, hissing. "Not that way!"

The idiot had been about to charge out of cover, straight for the front door!

Fortunately, Gon wasn't _really_ stupid … just a bit thick. He nodded, and let Killua lead them around on a circuitous path to the side of the building.

"I was shocked before," Gon whispered, trying to be quiet. "By feeling the nen that came from Kurapika's clan. And I couldn't say anything. But I'm not going to—!"

Someone reached out of the shadows behind him, a blood-smeared hand covering his mouth.

Killua hopped one short step away, his nails automatically sharpening into points – a Zaoldyek trick for quickly penetrating the enemy's flesh.

Then Gon snatched the thin fingers away from his mouth, a grin breaking over his features. Killua peered closer at the person standing over his friend, and felt himself relax.

"Kurapika!"

"You're too loud, Gon," she said … the calmest, most sensible words he'd heard her speak in what seemed like forever.

She looked like shit, though. Streaked with dust, ashes, her clothing ripped to the point of being almost indecent – and covered with enough dried blood to have died several times over. But Killua couldn't detect any open wounds. For all he could tell, she had walked out of whatever shredder she'd been through without an actual scratch. _How is that possible?_ Nen, probably. And he wasn't sure he wanted to ask what kind.

"Part of the roof came down," she half-mumbled, rubbing one of hand absently against the knuckles of the other … which only smeared the dirt and blood on them across what little clean skin remained. Chains rattled at her wrist. "It should take them a while to figure out that I'm not still underneath it. Some are injured; they won't move until their reinforcements arrive."

"Injured?" Gon peered up into her face. "The Ryodan? You didn't kill them?"

She shook her head, but the gesture or the question seemed to leave her slightly staggered.

_Partial shock,_ Killua decided. _Probably still trying to process everything._ That was good. She would be dazed, disoriented enough to follow his lead … and Gon, who wanted to discuss fighting philosophy or something, would follow her. _We can get out of here!_

"You can chat about it later," he announced, grabbing Kurapika by one dirty elbow. Once again, he began to tow his friends to safety.

_Next person who argues gets a fist, just like Leorio!_ If he thought he could get away with it, he'd have knocked them both upside the head already. _Off-again, on-again survival instincts are even worse than none at all._ But, now that Kurapika was back with them, he felt a little relieved. No one was getting left behind.

* * *

><p>Pakunoda knelt on the pile of broken rubble that used to be the left-hand wall of their base, trying to ignore the quiet argument raging behind her.<p>

"No one in the upstairs," Phinks reported, kicking things out of his way in anger.

"So the chain-user is trapped under all this," Nobunaga growled back. "Or she's long gone. What's important is that—"

"What's important," Feitan interrupted, "is that the enemy might still be alive. We shouldn't be waiting around for her to escape. Or change her mind and attack again."

"Wait a minute," Nobunaga protested. "The injured—"

"As far as I can see, none of them are going to die," Feitan snapped. "They had their chance, and now it's our turn."

Nobunaga's voice went deadly soft. "Does that include Dancho?"

Prying deep into the tumbled pile of cement, Pakunoda shut out the argument. In the background, their voices carried on – angry and frustrated and, underneath all that, a well-suppressed fear – until Phinks and Feitan stalked away, muttering to each other. Her attention returned to her own task.

_Blood, and fire. Darkness after the crash._ Under her fingers, the edges of stone were cold. The memories that still lingered on them sent a shiver down her spine._ Someone – or something – died under this._

She raised her head, scanning the night outside. Shadows moved there: uncertain shapes and the suggestion of movement. Raindrops flashed, reflecting long streaks of light from the Spider's hastily lit fire. The mist dissipated even as she watched – blown apart and fading back into the dying storm. It had been a long time since she had felt herself, almost superstitiously, beleaguered by the dark.

"Paku?" At her shoulder Nobunaga was hovering, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Got anything?"

Standing, she dusted off hands and knees briskly.

"Nothing." Not meeting his eyes, she brushed past him. "I couldn't read anything."

"Damn," he kicked at the rubble. "We know that no one came out the front, so—"

"It's not important," she cut him off. "How are the others?"

Nobu fell into step with her, their path taking them to the temporary medical area that had been set up in those first few, critical moments of their arrival on the scene. The other team lay propped up around the fire, the faint rising and falling of their breath indicating that they were alive. _Machi, Shal, __Franklin, Shizu, Hisoka – and Kuroro._ Six Spiders, four of them combat and strategy specialists, completely undone in the time it had taken her team to sprint from the subway station to the base.

_And Phinks and Feitan think they really have a chance._

"Dancho is the only one in immediate danger of dying," Nobu reported, respecting her as the first person to have started acting like she had a plan. "We found his hand, though, and the tourniquet seems to be working. Coltopi should be back with some ice and medicine in a few. Shalnark's got a nasty slash down his back, but the rest of the team made it out okay. Well, if you count being paralyzed and fucking helpless '_okay.'_"

"Phinks and Feitan?" she asked him quietly.

"They want to go hunting the chain-user. If she retreated, then she's probably vulnerable right now." The samurai shrugged, tucking the hand not clutching his katana into the front of his robe. The dire situation seemed to have cooled his head – without dampening his desire to fight. "I agree. Why are you so dead set on the defensive?"

_Because it might be the last order Dancho ever gives me. _She bit one manicured nail – a bad habit she'd thought broken long ago. _'Don't let the Spider die.'_ He'd barely been able to grate that command out, before he'd collapsed in front of her. Quite probably, he expected they would be his last words.

"Just keep those two hot-heads from doing anything crazy."

"Even by force?"

She hesitated a moment … but only over how far she could trust him.

"Even by force." She waved a hand back the way they'd come. "Let them dig through that junk, if it'll satisfy them."

"You think there's anything down there?"

She took refuge in sarcastic humor. "What do you think?"

Nobu snorted. "That it doesn't take Machi's intuition to say this isn't over."

* * *

><p>Kurapika drove through the night's wasteland, choosing a direction without conscious thought. She was running on nothing but excess adrenaline now. The fading heat of it numbed her veins. Through the windows, rambling city streets trailed out into desert. The rain poured itself out, and left them. Gon sat beside her; Killua was in back making sure that Leorio's limp form didn't slide around too much when her hand shook and the car fishtailed around the empty highway.<p>

After what he had said in the parking garage, she hadn't expected him to be willing to help at all. _Did I judge him too harshly, and hear only what I was afraid to hear?_ Maybe she had overreacted, unfairly interpreting his words as a rejection of the friendship she thought they shared. In his defense, comrades had no responsibility to help each other to destruction. _But I was right,_ she insisted to herself with hollow stubbornness._ I succeeded. Even the Spider could not keep me from that._

A poor argument, in face of what had almost happened.

Dark miles flowed by. In one hand, pressed against her chest, the Scarlet Eyes slipped against each other. But the spirit that had been trapped inside them for so long was gone. Nowhere on earth did that person exist anymore … no matter where she drove, how far or fast she ran, she would never catch up.

The image of a reversed cross was branded behind her closed lids.

_Kuroro Lucifer. _The person she hated most in the world. Now he had a name and a face – but she had hated him since long ago. _You can never hurt enough._

She should have hit him with his own poisonous knife, paralyzed him to be sure he couldn't slip free of his bonds or interfere with her as she dealt with the curse … but she hadn't. She had left him his ability to struggle – stripped of his nen and left with nothing but the awareness of just how fragile the human body is, how it writhes and struggles for life even when the mind accepts death as inevitable. She had _wanted_ him to suffer agonies. Delighted in the very thought.

_I should have snapped his neck._

And yet her thirst for vengeance had been tainted by a Spider's death: the only human life she had ever snuffed out … and she could never go back to ignorance.

"_This is just the way it is for us, kid."_ Stronger than the Eyes in her hand, she felt the pressure of a ghost's hand on her head. _"You don't have to understand."_

Kurapika did understand ― and how she hated him for forcing that on her. She knew, the conviction irrevocable as a promise, that she could never crush the Ryodan without feeling Ubo's regret. _Ubo._ A day too late, she learned his name.

Nothing marked the cliffs rising around their road as any different from the others they had passed, but she knew them by their shape. With a creak of metal, the car pulled to a halt just off the road. She longed for a moment to sit still, and rest, but instead she unlocked the doors and tossed the keys to Gon. He'd been watching her the entire time – perhaps on the verge of saying something – but something had kept him quiet.

"Stay in the car," she ordered, reaching across to unbuckle her seatbelt awkwardly; unwilling to let go of the Eyes, even for the brief instant of transferring them from one hand to another. "I'll come back in a couple of hours."

Muddy sand squelched underfoot, its heavy scent pervading her senses, and its reddish color staining the hems of her already ruined pants.

"We're coming with you," Gon declared, following her out.

"Gon, please." She was too tired to deal with this. "Just stay here. For my own peace of mind."

"Peace of mind?" Gon repeated softly, voice beginning to tremble with something that sounded like anger.

She turned, surprised, to find him staring at her. Killua had also left the car, and stood behind his friend in silent support. Under her confused, tired gaze, Gon's hands clenched into fists.

"I didn't think you were like this, Kurapika!" He was shouting at her suddenly, his words pounding against her like an ocean squall. "Aren't we friends? Shouldn't we be fighting together? All this time, and you never even said anything! But that was a curse, right? That's why you kept talking about them when we asked you about nen! That's what you were ready to give up for! Everything you said about being a Hunter, about protecting things! You were ready to throw away!"

"I—"

"You think that just because you didn't lie about it, that makes it okay to keep these kinds of secrets!" Once he'd started, it seemed impossible for him to hold back. "But aren't you just rejecting us because you're scared? You really don't get how hard it is for other people to be left behind! Just figure it out already! And find some other way to fight!"

For a long moment after the flood of his words cut off, Kurapika had nothing to say.

_I can't. I can't―_

But the fierce, sincere emotion ripping under his words defeated her. Because she understood this also.

They were children: younger than she had been when she lost the clan … without as many burdens, but each abandoned and lonely in their own ways. _And too inexperienced to sense that this is far beyond their capabilities._ Perhaps she had done them an injustice, by refusing to be as open with them as they were with her about the past.

Slow, stiff, her closed fist opened itself to reveal what she'd carried away from the Spider's base.

Killua sucked in a breath, the first to catch on. "Those are—"

"Scarlet Eyes," she finished. An ironic gleam of humor shone through, probably brought on by the relief of laying things on the table. "Well, only in name now."

It was true: the last of the crimson had faded from them, washed away by blood and nen. She'd paid the price for freeing another lost soul. Between her fingers they looked ordinary – the irises brown, the pupils black – glazed over with a faint, milky haze of true death.

"I'm not doing anything dangerous." Her own eyes, also back to their natural shade, met Gon's without reservation. "Or anything secret. I just want to bury them properly."

For a second, he just looked at her. Then he shook his head.

"You don't have to do that alone."

"You're a good kid, Gon." A surprising, blood-stained smile worked across her mouth. "That's why I worry for you."

Both he and Killua had seen the curse born of her clan … and they hadn't turned from her in disgust. She struggled with anger and awkward, unaccustomed gratitude. _They don't know the truth,_ her conscience whispered. _They know what, but not why. Tell them that, and see how long they remain by your side._ The same old doubt, one that had pierced her over and over since the massacre, drove through her again.

_Do we deserve to suffer?_

"I don't want you to curse anyone, Kurapika," Gon said, pressing forward to tug at her sleeve.

For a surreal second, she was surprised that he could touch her. Then she almost laughed at herself. _I'm not dead._ Life was a burden, but also a relief. _I'm still here._

"Thank you, Gon."

What she owed him, and Killua, could never be expressed in just those words. _Thank you ― for being what you are._ If it hadn't been for her friends, she was sure that she would have lost her humanity somewhere in the ugly labyrinth of York Shin's underground auction. _And I am already far too close to being a monster._

Kurapika held out her free hand.

"Killua, can I borrow your phone?"

He gave it to her wordlessly.

"Hello?" the woman sounded hesitant as she picked up.

"Senri, it's me."

"Kurapika! What's happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm still alive."

"You sound—"

"I can only imagine. Listen, Senri—"

"Just tell me where you are."

"You're still in York Shin, then? Good."

She gave her only absent ally their location, and hung up.

Killua accepted the phone back with a tentative, questioning look.

"You can't come with me." Kurapika held up a hand to forestall Gon's protest. "But if I'm not back by the time Senri arrives, she'll be able to lead you right to where I am."

"You trust this person?" asked Gon, with unfamiliar caution.

"Yes." Kurapika hesitated, then nodded in a second affirmation. A smile touched her face, a tired lifting of her heart. "I have four good friends."

Gon searched her face, and whatever he found there seemed finally to satisfy him. "Then we'll join you as soon as you're done."

Without another word, she vanished the desert, leaving Gon and Killua and even Leorio's faint aura behind.

A cool wind, chasing the shadow of the storm, ruffled pale hair back from her forehead and whispered promises in a secret language of its own. Chains clacked against each other at her hand, burning hot and cold on her skin. Surrounded by the stone walls of the canyon, a long walk beyond the reach of her friends' awareness, she stopped.

It was as good a place as any.

"_What you want is possible,"_ her nen-teacher had said. _"But understand that things will never be the same. You cannot return to the time that was before the curse."_

She'd known that already.

But it was impossible to leave her comrades trapped in the bloody, broken bits of their own corpses … to suffer for as long as the seventh wonder could be preserved by human hands. So she'd bent and twisted her own nen, chained herself to the fate of the Scarlet Eyes for one last chance to free them.

_Is worse,_ she wondered distantly, _to have seen a monster – or a beloved comrade?_

Terribly weary, she knelt and began to scrape out another grave.

"_You can't carry this burden alone."_

But there was no one else.

* * *

><p>"Machi?"<p>

Someone was shaking her shoulder. Her eyes slitted open, reluctantly. Something was wrong with her voice – or her head – and words slurred, rambling away from her.

"Dammit, Machi! Get your head out of your ass and start moving!"

"Screw you, Nobunaga."

_There. That came out alright._

Her tormentor turned and shouted far too loudly. "Hey, Machi's up!"

Pakunoda's worried face appeared over his shoulder seconds later. The light was rough, flickering yellowish red and black and playing tricks on her uncertain vision. As her eyes focused on their expressions, though, she couldn't complain about it the way she'd planned.

"What … happened?" Her mouth still stuttered over the sounds, but she forced the question out.

"We got here too late," Nobu snapped, topknot waving perilously over his head. "The chain-user trashed our base and disappeared. That's what fucking happened!"

"She—"

"But once we found the knife, we knew what the poison was so—"

"There's no time for this," Paku broke in, biting at one finger with unusual agitation. "Dancho needs your help."

_Say that kind of thing first!_ But Machi was too busy heaving her unwilling body to its feet to criticize. She didn't even try to reject the helping hands that supported her as her muscles began to unlock and move again. By the time she made it past Shizu and Franklin's still immobile forms, she was walking under her own power.

Kuroro lay on the other side of a pile of damp, reluctantly burning boxes, like a life-sized rag-doll of himself.

He looked half-dead.

Machi frowned, levering herself down beside him and ignoring Nobunaga's offered hand. She had treated the other Ryodan plenty of times … but it had been years since Kuroro had gotten himself so badly hurt that he needed serious attention. Someone – _Coltopi_ – shoved a bucket of ice into her hands. One finger broke through the pile of ice. _Dancho's hand?_ Sure enough, his right arm ended in a bulky swathe of bandages – probably packing more ice around the wound.

The Spider ran a hand through her messy hair, tugging a little to clear her head of distractions. Now really wasn't the time to ask stupid questions, like Pakunoda had pointed out.

Warmth blossomed at the tips of her own fingers as her nen-threads began to unwind. Machi plucked a needle from the pincushion strapped to the back of her hand, and threaded it. The operation took a couple of tries, but by the time she got it done she was feeling up to the operation ahead. Nen squeaked beneath her practiced fingers as she unwrapped bloody bandages from around Kuroro's wrist.

* * *

><p>They waited for someone else to arrive – Kurapika, or her unknown ally, or Leorio returning from dreamland. Every once in a while, a car would rumble past on its way out into the desert. Killua watched their white headlights flash into red tail-lights that disappeared into the night.<p>

"We messed up, didn't we?" Gon asked the quiet dark.

Killua wasn't exactly sure which of their multiple blunders he was referring to, but replied anyway.

"We screwed up, Kurapika screwed up, the Spiders screwed up. Everyone screwed up. Whatever is going on is real frickin' screwed up."

"Yeah."

The two boys sat beside each other on the trunk of the car, staring at the distant, neon twinkle of York Shin.

Killua had never known that nen like the Kurata clan's existed; the memory of its sickening aura still crawled around in his head. Born a killer, and he had wanted to piss himself and run from it. Even the Ryodan, even Hisoka and the never-to-be-discouraged Gon_,_ had been given pause. And he had watched Kurapika stand at its center – and emerge alive and uninjured.

She had even been able to smile at Gon.

_No wonder she was so insistent that 'her type' of nen wasn't suitable for us._

On the edges of his aura-enhanced awareness, the Zaoldyek could still sense the shadow of the Kurata's presence. The twisted, disquieting aura that she hadn't quite been able to hide after she rejoined them bubbled against his senses like a geyser just after it blew … or just before. But Gon didn't seem to have picked up on the faint, bone-chilling emanation. So Killua said nothing.

After what seemed like hours, the other kid spoke up again.

"I don't want to fight them anymore."

"The Ryodan?" Killua looked over to find Gon fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. "You were really enthusiastic earlier."

"But now I don't want to."

"What about Kurapika?" asked Killua. "If she goes after them seriously, I think she might actually have a chance."

He'd always thought she _had_ been serious … until he saw the way she looked at the Eyes.

"I don't think she should fight anyone the way she is now." His friend fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't think we could help her."

"Why not?" Killua didn't really have a problem with that, but he had expected Gon to charge ahead – the other boy never backed down from a challenge.

"We can't do anything against them the way we are. Much less against Kurapika's curse."

That made sense, so it was surprising that the words came out of Gon's mouth – maybe he had underestimated his friend's survival instincts after all.

"We're not strong enough yet," Killua nodded.

"We need to develop special techniques, like Kurapika."

"No," Killua shook his head. "Not like that."

Gon glanced over at him.

"Yeah," he agreed, after a minute. "Not like that."

_Whatever it is, it's as likely to kill her or us as it is to kill anyone else._

The wind hissed over drying sand and stone and the highway's asphalt, ruffling Killua's white hair. Desert creatures scratched and scrabbled about in the darkness, pursuing their own secret business. The Zaoldyek listened with the quiet stillness of an alert hunter – but he had just been reminded that he could easily become one of the hunted.

_I should never have forgotten it, even for a second._ A life full of hard lessons meant that he was already fitting this high-priced knowledge into place … but he knew himself again to be a stupid brat. Away from the long shadows of his father and brothers and family, playing among the less talented, he had come in danger of getting too complacent.

So when a car pulled up beside them and a short woman hopped out, carrying a flat, dark case that was the right size to hold any number of guns or other weapons, he was high-strung enough to leap into a defensive crouch on the other side of the car. Gon rolled around to land beside him a second later. Peering around the bumper, he found a large, mustached man had joined the balding woman.

"Sorry for startling you," she said, holding up her hands with a smile of good faith. "You must be Kurapika's friends."

* * *

><p>Kurapika lay on her back, too tired to move. Mud from the recent downpour oozed between her fingers, clotting in her hair and leaving grit in her mouth. Clouds drifted above her in the uncaring, moonless night. Above the weathered cliffs of the wasteland, the lights of York Shin glowed against the sky.<p>

_A second soul, released._ But there would be a third, and the fourth after it, and the fifth … all of the Scarlet Eyes scattered throughout the world. Each pair home its own tortured spirit, its own cursed and cursing prisoner. _All my life, for other people's sins. _But her hands were no longer clean either.

She remained on the ground where she had fallen, battered and bound by the ghosts of the past.

_Always more things to lose._

The desert storm tainted every breath. Memories sifted and scattered in her mind, but none of them held the resolution she wanted. Kurapika turned her head to one side, muddy water splashing her cheek. An expanse of freshly disturbed earth, harrowed by the driving rain, stretched out around her. She lay beside another grave.

"What did you have, that the clan lacked?" she asked, though the one buried could no longer hear. "What could you possibly have understood?"

But, as stubborn as he had been in life, the dead man refused to answer.

Kurapika knew she had to get up, to keep moving. The grime of the Spider's grave – _Ubo's grave _– smeared with the blood and sweat caking her side and back. _I killed this person._ And she longed to feel nothing.

"You sacrificed everything," she whispered to him. "And the happiness of dying to save precious comrades is yours."

She rose from his resting place. Looking at her own hands, free of chains but still filthy with dirt and blood, she wanted to tear off her skin. A creeping greyness obscured her vision, eating in from the edges of her sight to the center. The desert wavered around her as the world seemed to tremble on its axis ― but that was just the illusion of her own impaired balance.

_The wrong survivor is returning,_ she thought suddenly, insanely. _I should be dead and he should be walking out of the desert to meet his friends._

Kurapika shook the thought away, staggering as she took the first steps on the road before her. Gon and Killua and Leorio and maybe even Senri were waiting for her at its end. To return to the small refuge they represented, she dragged herself through the wasteland.

* * *

><p>Leorio woke to find Killua's upside down face staring at him. For a brief second, he blinked at the confusing image. Then reality returned in an unpleasant, head-aching rush. He scrambled into a sitting position, almost cracking his skull against the Zaoldyek's.<p>

"Don't hurt yourself, old man," the boy advised, his customary smirk lacking edge. "There's no rush anymore."

"What?" Leorio twisted to stare around Killua and out the open door of the car. "What's going on?"

As if by magic, the sprawl of grungy buildings and alleys outside the car had been replaced by sandy rock and desert canyons.

"Eh … weird stuff happened."

"Well, _that's_ helpful," Leorio snapped, beginning to remember that he had good reasons to be very angry with this particular kid.

"You might want to ask Kurapika."

"She's alright?"

He ignored the unhappy twinges in his stomach from where he had been hit and tried to shove past Killua, which ended in an awkward tangle in the confines of the car.

"We wouldn't be sitting here if she wasn't." Killua extricated himself and hopped to the ground, trying to act like he wasn't hovering as Leorio stumbled out after him. "Gon and one of her allies from the mob, a melody-hunter, are bringing her back."

"Back from where?" Leorio demanded. "The Ryodan―"

"Not exactly," Killua shoved his hands in his pockets and looked shifty. "They haven't killed each other."

"What?"

"Not yet, anyway."

"Sit down and explain what happened," he ordered sternly.

Fortunately for him, Killua knew better than to argue with that tone of voice.

They were deep in a very involved narration of a ghost-story, combined with some sort of sick tragedy or farce, when Killua cut off abruptly. He leaped to his feet, ignoring Leorio's protest. A few minutes later, the older man caught sight of what the boy must have sensed.

From out of the twisting canyons before them, three strange figures resolved themselves into Gon and a short woman, who must be the melody-hunter, supporting Kurapika's stumbling progress. Leorio ran to join them, sliding over the difficult terrain.

Up close, Kurapika looked even worse than he feared. Her brown eyes stared through them all, fixed on some distant point beyond the world. Mud streaked her gold hair and one cheek. The entire right sleeve of her shirt looked like it had been _burned_ off her. No actual burns, but he could see blood, dry and flaking – he couldn't say for sure whether or not it was even hers. In his professional capacity as a doctor he would have diagnosed her with the shock and exhaustion that should have been accompanied by extreme blood-loss, even though she wasn't visibly injured.

Most alarming was the way she did not even seem to notice when he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the car.

He helped her into a back seat, where she curled up – expression still frighteningly drained even of anger or sadness. The boys crowded close to her on the other side. He had never seen them with such subdued expressions before either. With Gon's help, he managed to get Kurapika safely buckled down.

Closing the door, he turned to find himself faced with the stranger.

"I'm Senritsu," the melody-hunter introduced herself quietly. "I know you're hurt, but would you mind driving us back? I'm a bit short, so the peddles are …" she trailed off with an apologetic shake of the head.

"How did you get here?" demanded Leorio, unwilling to put up with yet another mystery.

"A coworker gave me a lift." She smiled. "But I sent him back since his remarks are not always tactful." Her expression turned anxious. "I can call him again, if you're really not feeling well enough to drive."

"No," he had already given himself a cursory medical check while Killua tried to explain, "I'm not really damaged."

"I'm glad that's true," she smiled at him, as though pleased.

_Kind of a weird person, but seems nice,_ Leorio shrugged to himself. _If Killua hasn't objected and Gon doesn't show any instinctive dislike … then what can I do but accept her?_

He got into the driver's seat, and realized that he wasn't sure where to take them all.

"I think it's best to avoid our boss's hotel," Senritsu said, sensing his hesitation as she sat beside him.

"She can't run into the Ryodan again tonight," added Gon firmly from the back. "I don't want to see them right now either."

Killua snorted at that, but the one most concerned said nothing. They debated around her silence, rejecting hotels in general and Zepairu's place as too crowded. Hospitals were also off the list when Killua pointed out that they had no idea what the Kurata's nen ability might do. From the way he and Gon talked, it was prone to act up violently when she got upset.

"Besides," Gon added, ever the optimist, "Leorio's almost a doctor anyway, so it's alright."

Leorio wished that he had that much faith in his own capability to fix whatever was wrong.

In the end, they decided to set up temporary camp in an abandoned building of their own. Killua, who had the most experience in this field, mentioned a derelict apartment complex he remembered noting as a good place to lie low for a few days. The engine of the rental car grumbled to life and they finally headed out.

As they left the desert behind, Senritsu pulled a dark leather music case onto her lap.

"Do you mind?" she asked, removing a flute from it.

He shook his head, figuring that the question had been more of a courtesy than anything else.

Senritsu lifted the instrument to her lips. Soft music filled the car – wrapping them in a sweet, calming melody. Leorio felt himself physically relax. He checked the mirror, and saw the flicker of life return to Kurapika's face as well. Freed from whatever dark prison her mind had been plunged into, she tipped sideways to rest against the window. Wide brown eyes finally closed beside their reflection in the glass.

Leorio thought that he had never seen anyone so defeated.

* * *

><p>Machi snipped the last thread with her teeth, a sharp snap of released tension. Stitches glimmered for a moment against the flesh of her shoulder, then melted into the regular tone of her skin; the stab-wound from the chain-user's last attack had finally been repaired. She'd taken care of the worst of everyone else's injuries … which would amount to a tidy profit, once they were able to pay. Though it would probably take some convincing to squeeze the money out of some of them.<p>

_Except for Kuroro, of course._ Machi always felt strange asking him for money – giving him the right to set his own price on those rare occasions he needed her skills. He had never abused the privilege by trying to stiff her.

All around, the other paralysis victims were beginning to recover as well – stretching numbed, clumsy limbs. Once Shizuku had regained use of her nen, she'd been able to draw the poison out of the others … though the after-effects still plagued them. Franklin, pacing back and forth to return the feeling in his limbs, gave her an acknowledging nod as he passed by.

Machi nodded back, getting to her feet.

Her first patient was sitting beside the fire, not quite listening to whatever it was Phinks and Feitan were trying to tell him. Just about to join her leader, Machi stopped.

Kuroro was staring at his reattached hand, flexing the fingers over and over with a curious expression on his face.

"Dancho?" she asked.

He glanced up, and smiled. But an incredibly bad feeling dropped through her stomach like a stone. Something was definitely wrong. Machi would have bet all her zenni on it.

* * *

><p>Dark water submerged her, salt stinging in wounds that had already healed.<p>

"Kurapika?"

Someone was calling her name, syllables warping underwater in strangely muted vibrations, but her answer choked in the depths.

"Kurapika, are you awake?"

Voices and music tangled together as time lurched forward in uneven, disconnected bubbles of clarity.

"She's gone back to sleep."

"But her eyes were just open!"

"They're closed now. Let her rest."

Far below, a hundred red embers glowed – fire unquenched by all the water of the world.

Kurapika drifted deeper, closer to their numbing heat, and let the noises of the surface drown in the tidal rush of the ocean's pulse.


	14. As Time Divides

_This chapter feels a little rough to me, but I suspect that I will never like it no matter how many times I go over it. But it's a necessary step. Should I mention that we're finally nearing the end of part one? Yes, this turned into a much bigger project than I first imagined. Fun, though!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen:<strong> As Time Divides

The early morning air smelled of drying stone and sand from the desert. A glare of sun slanted through the fallen wall, sparkling off pools of collected rainwater. Reflections broke, their upside-down world shattering under Kuroro's boots. He lifted another chunk of stone.

Fortunately, none of the stolen items seemed to have been harmed by the miniature rockfall. Likewise, there was no sign of a body amidst the wreckage. _The chain-user survived. And escaped. _That much was apparent. Which meant that she'd been in good enough condition, after fighting half the Ryodan and a death-curse _and_ having half a building dumped on her head, to disappear right out from under the noses of the functioning half of the Spider.

"—don't understand why we can't hunt her down and—"

_Isn't it obvious?_ Kuroro asked himself for the eleventh time, only half-listening as they hauled away the rubble that had buried their treasure last night. Shizuku had offered to vacuum it, of course, but he wanted the relief of simple, physical labor to clear his thoughts … and occupy the more hot-headed Spiders.

All the items would have to be checked individually for signs of damage anyway.

"Dancho—"

"You need to realize this, Nobu," he cut the swordsman off. "Our survival last night is not any sort of victory. Over half our members were injured … not because we were too powerful or too clever to be killed, but because _our enemy decided we weren't worth the effort._"

He'd seen it in that last look Kurapika had given him – surrounded by chains and the dark fire of a killing-curse – underneath the bitter hatred burning in her eyes … _Contempt._ In retrospect, it was so easy to read in all her actions. Neither of them had been fighting against each other with full strength. The only difference was, she'd been playing him: using the Spider to draw out the curse.

Was it irrational to feel slighted?

"_Go to hell. Kuroro Lucifer."_

He dropped the concrete boulder on the other side of the stairs, immediately turning around to get another.

"Until we find a nen-eraser, we don't stand a chance against the Kurata," he added.

"Evidently?" Pakunoda murmured as she passed by, her arms full of splintered wood.

"Evidently."

Raising his voice so that all of them could hear, he added, "If you think about it in terms of relative location over the past week, you'll realize that the chain-user must have been within very short distances of the Eyes at various points throughout the auction. But nothing happened until she came here."

"Oh! I get it!" interrupted Shalnark, catching on with his usual enthusiasm. "_We_ were in contact with the Scarlet Eyes and nothing happened. And _she_ was in contact with the Scarlet Eyes and nothing happened. But when all _three_ of us were in the same place at the same time—Bang! Death-curse, screaming, mayhem!"

"Er … yes." Kuroro decided not to critique the description. "Anyway, we can be sure that this isn't over."

"What do you mean?" Pakunoda frowned. "The Kurata—"

He leapt lightly up onto a broken column to address the Ryodan more formally. The familiar faces looking up at him had decreased in number – the absence of Ubo, one of his oldest followers, sent another stab of unhappiness through him. Those that remained looked tense, worried, and angry; even Hisoka seemed extra watchful from behind his teetering house of cards.

"The pair of Scarlet Eyes we stole from this auction were indeed destroyed." He'd crushed them himself. "But that's not the only set in existence."

Kuroro let them absorb that thought and its implications for a second.

"We barely survived one curse … I doubt very much we would last long against thirty-five." He glanced over at Bonorolf – the closest thing the Spider had to a formal expert on the mystical side of nen. "Or thirty-six, if we kill the girl. So as long as a single pair of Eyes exists, we're all in danger of falling victim to their curse. Correct?"

"Maybe," the Spider answered, only his staring eyes visible through the bandages.

"You can't say for sure?" Feitan grumbled from the other side of a rock. "I thought you were a shaman."

"My tribe summons the spirits of our ancestors to give us strength, but we don't deal in curses. Those who traffic with hungry ghosts and their resentment invite…" Bonorolf paused, then shrugged. "They invite misfortune. It's a perversion of the world's natural order."

"We're not exactly big on world order ourselves," Phinks muttered, flourishing a solid gold sword from out of another crate.

Kuroro ran a finger along the rim of a blue jar – remarkably undamaged thanks to its careful packaging. _It barely escaped destruction._ His skin stung with remembered pain.

"_Please. Don't."_

What had the chain-user been asking for, there at the end?

"_Take my hand."_

He'd seen no evidence that the creature attacking them was anything but a phantom, a rudimentary expression of nen searching for something to anchor it. At the time, he'd trusted his own understanding first … dismissing the Kurata girl's behavior because he couldn't see purpose behind it. But she'd talked about 'freedom' and 'benefits' like the curse had been a fully-developed human being – like it could understand and reason back.

"_I have always been with you."_

Things that could reason and converse were things that could plan and conquer. The whole Ryodan could very well drown in the dark without knowing more about this threat. _We need to find a nen-eraser. _Kuroro curling his fingers up into the fur-lining of the sleeve that Machi had stitched back together for him.

"I don't understand, Bonorolf," protested Shizuku, digging into the pile of treasure beside him. Her glasses had gone crooked again, and she had sawdust in her hair. "Why should the chain-user be unfortunate because of the curse? It came from her clan."

"That just makes her the most suitable target for possession," explained Bonorolf, sounding irritated. "She's in as much danger of losing her soul as we are. More, probably."

Nobunaga muttered something inaudible – most likely a fervent wish that the Kurata fall victim to fates worse than death or insanity.

"Even if she wanted to preserve her mind or whatever, that doesn't explain why she didn't eliminate us when she had the chance. Machi and I were completely overwhelmed, but she wouldn't even sit still long enough to cut our throats." Shalnark caught his partner's glare and ducked his head. "No point denying it, Machi. Anyway, there's something we're unaware of preventing us from predicting her behavior and making a good plan."

Kuroro fished a much crumpled scrap of paper out of his pocket and held it up. Morning sun flashed over the white page, turning the scrawl of ink to a pattern of iridescent darkness.

"Your premise is correct." He grinned with a morbid humor. "But not your conclusion."

Pakunoda and several others crowded forward to have a look.

"Evidently, we're not the only ones to have taken advantage of Neon Nostrad's fortunetelling."

He'd caught a glimpse of the paper and its familiar hand-writing sticking out of the girl's pocket, during their brief, preliminary exchange of blows … before the curse had exploded so spectacularly around them. Stealing the page, slipping it into his sleeve had been a simple game – the sort he'd been played in childhood.

Now the Spiders passed the prediction from hand to hand, scanning it over and listening to him at the same time.

"With this, we have the data we need to predict the disasters in Kurapika's future." His voice carried through the ruined columns, strong with self-assurance. "We can choose the time and place of confrontation instead of allowing circumstances to force us into an unfavorable position."

By their faces, he could see that this argument finally satisfied them. _For the moment._ He had his doubts … but the important thing was that they obeyed his orders to the letter this time.

"We're leaving York Shin. Today."

He levered up one last section of broken column, finally reaching the floor beneath the pile. The air still smelled scorched, and curious soot-marks discolored the underside of some of the debris. On the concrete at his boots, he could see the faint stain of spilled blood.

_Too much blood to belong to the still-living Kurata. But the alternative is that it came from the dead one._

Shifting a broken splinter of stone aside with his foot, Kuroro frowned.

_Do ghosts bleed?_

* * *

><p>Pakunoda paced restlessly up and down the length of the alley, her phone clenched in one slender hand. No messages. She'd sent out the call more than an hour ago … S<em>hould have an answer by now!<em> But the cellphone remained silent in her grip: an inert rectangle of uncooperative circuits. The Spider stared at it blankly for a second, fingers tapping on the plastic case. She had already bitten all her nails ragged ― _And I don't care, damn it!_

The Spider shook her head, a cynical, self-deprecating smirk twisting her mouth.

_I'm afraid._

Kuroro kept telling her that she got too caught up in the human element of a battle, that she should learn to place people's psychological drives in context of circumstantial restrictions and the setting … instead of assuming that an enemy would always be at full-strength, always at full-potential. He said it made her good at jobs that required caution and subterfuge – but made her paranoid and fatalistic in a fight.

_As usual, Dancho,_ she saluted in the direction of the hotel in which he and the others were even now planning the details of their exit strategy, _You're always right._

Except when he was wrong.

But she really didn't have any way to convince him.

Turning, she spotted a dark figure at the end of the alley. Her foot tapped impatiently at the unwelcome intrusion. She had made her excuses to the boss and slipped out of the base in order to get _away_ from her fellow Spiders. Too much time in their company left her with a headache on the best of days.

The other strode forward into the light falling across one side of the alley, the sun illuminating his face like a mask.

_Hisoka._

Her scalp prickled. She had sought out this place because it was distant, but not too distant from the lair: a place she was unlikely to be discovered by friends or enemies. For one of the other Spiders to track her down … She bit an already ruined finger-nail. _Something must be wrong._

But he looked indifferent enough. Maybe he just wanted to enjoy his favorite pastime: tormenting an easy target.

"Troubles on your mind, Pakunoda?" the clown drawled, coming to a stop a safe distance away.

He had come just to irritate her.

"No."

"Lying again." He shook his head in mock-sympathy, glancing around the alley's grimy walls and trash-piles. "You wouldn't have sought out such a homey place if you weren't just the least little bit upset." When she didn't answer, he added, "None of the others have noticed it yet, but you can't hide your abnormal behavior forever. I found you out … and Kuroro won't be _too_ far behind."

An experienced liar, Pakunoda knew that her face had already revealed too much.

"What do you know?" Her lips felt stiff, though her fear was not centered on him. "You weren't even there."

"At the massacre?" Hisoka took up a seat on the round lid of a trashcan, sliding out his deck of cards and beginning to snap them from hand to hand. "True, I wasn't. But I'd wager I know more about it than some of the players more … directly involved."

"You're under oath to her," Pakunoda shook her head, spitting the words out angrily. "That cursed child! I'm not giving you _any_ information."

Hisoka smiled.

Unintentionally, she took a step backwards. Her abilities were not designed for combat; in a one-on-one duel, she had no doubt that the magician would win. Technically, serious matches were forbidden between members of the Ryodan … but if he had any evidence at all, none of the others would lift a finger to help her.

The lies she had built up over the last several years would collapse as easily as his house of cards.

_It wasn't like that!_ The ragged edges of her nails bit into her palms as her hands clenched. _It was to save us! The whole Spider!_

"You won't get anything out of me."

"Oh?" Hisoka replied, his voice a pleasant menace. "Whatever _will_ you say next?"

* * *

><p>Deep in dreams, Kurapika opened her eyes.<p>

Red stained the water around her, a spreading taint that dyed the ocean crimson. _That's right,_ she thought, the sounds reverberating like an underwater bell. _I'm bleeding._ She should do something about that … but in this place there was no pain, no heat or cold or desire or urgency.

_Oblivion is its own price and punishment._

The quality of the water changed – blood sliding into streamers of tattered bandages, and then a storm of red wind and white paper. She tried to brush the pages away, struggling to focus on the words burned into their surface. Something important was written here – a message, a secret was being confided in her. Her eyes stung, refusing to focus.

And she realized that they had been torn out.

A sense of inevitability weighed her down, numbed her reactions. _This was always meant to be my fate._ So it was fine. There was nothing to worry about. No plans or preparations needed to be made. No one could demand anything from her.

She could stay here, blind and unfeeling, for as long as she wanted.

* * *

><p>The last of their loot inspected, Kuroro let Shizuku vacuum it up for the time being. In a little while she and the team escorting her would make their way to the harbor, steal a ship, and head out to sea. Even the most tenacious hunter would have trouble locating them in all the vastness of an ocean.<p>

The rest of the Ryodan would split up into teams of two and three, taking land and air-routes to a variety of locations.

Sitting on the lower stairs, Kuroro brooded over the damage done to his favorite seat. A deep crack had riven right down the center of the grand staircase; one half of the stairs no longer reached the upper floor, slumped and crooked and falling just a little short of the landing. The other half was safe enough to sit on, though.

"Dancho?"

He glanced up to find Pakunoda standing in front of him, a frown etched on her forehead. _Unusual._ Wordless, he raised an inquiring brow.

"I'd like to stay behind for an extra day."

Kuroro frowned at the unexpected request. "Why?"

"Zenji. I want to check him one last time, now that we know a little more. The Nostrads too."

"Hm."

He thought it over. He'd intended to have her accompany him and Shalnark, concentrating on their usual task of fact-finding and analysis. But the kind of research they would be doing didn't really require her expertise. Only one Kurata had survived the massacre to be questioned – and Kuroro wanted to be on solid footing before he went after her again.

If any other Spider had made this request, he would have refused point-blank. But Pakunoda was cautious. She could fake an identity as easily as Coltopi could forge a banknote … _And there's the prediction to consider too. Hers is different from ours._ The chain-user had never seen her face either. _So the risks are lower for her than the rest of us._

Besides, she was Paku. He trusted her like he trusted himself.

"Alright. Just join me and Shalnark in Zaban next week."

An almost invisible tension in her face eased.

"Thank you, Dancho."

By the end of the morning, there was no evidence – aside from some rather extensive damage to the walls and interior – that the Ryodan had ever visited the ruined hotel. By the end of the afternoon, they had scattered to various points of departure, traveling in groups of twos and threes. And by the end of the day, the Spider was long gone from York Shin.

* * *

><p>Kurapika woke abruptly, escaping dreams she could not recall. A cracked, mold-spotted ceiling blurred uncertainly above her. Something wasn't quite right with her body … it felt too heavy and too light all at once. Nearby, familiar auras murmured across her gathering awareness. Her thoughts wavered from memory to memory, trying to string events together.<p>

"What time is it?"

For a moment, neither of them answered – and she wondered hazily if she had really spoken at all.

"Two in the afternoon," Senri replied in a soothing tone.

"I slept for twelve hours," Kurapika muttered, but the vague irritation that accompanied the realization cost too much energy to maintain. There were more important things to worry about anyway. "What happened?"

She couldn't bear to ask about the Spider. _I don't want to think about it._ Her head ached, and her mouth tasted of sleep and medicine she didn't remember taking.

"The mafia has decided not to hold the underground auction again," Senri informed her, after a beat of hesitation – unable to focus clearly on her face, Kurapika couldn't tell what her expression might be. "All the remaining items were sold online. Most of them have left the city."

Leorio put a hand on her forehead ― _I have to apologize to him about … something._ Exactly why she had to apologize escaped her, but that memory would come back.

"Still feverish," the doctor said, his face close enough for her to see the worry lines. "You need more sleep."

He replaced a wet cloth on her forehead, but she couldn't follow his suggestion just yet.

"What about the fake Eyes? Zenji left them at Neon's hotel …"

During the long pause that followed, she concentrated only on the present: the steady rhythm of her own breathing, the sweaty tangle of blankets around her legs, and the cold of water droplets sliding from the cloth at her forehead. _What happened to the mud?_ She wanted to lift a hand to her face, to see whether or not grave-dirt still clung to her skin—but thinking about moving made her sick.

"Both they and Zenji seem to have disappeared," Senri finally said, the undertone of her words full of questions. "Neon and her father return home tomorrow."

_Oh._ A time limit on the forger's ability, that was useful information, she could use it against … _I won't think about it now._

"See, you can still rest," Senri smiled, but the tone in her voice was grave.

Kurapika closed her eyes.

"_She still believes it's only Sunday."_ Leorio's voice followed her down into sleep.

Senri answered, _"An erratic melody―"_

Kurapika wanted to tell them that she could hear … but the determination slipped away before she could truly grasp it.

* * *

><p>Killua brushed a hand through his hair, inspecting himself in the mirror. The Southern Peace auction would start soon, and he thought he'd done a rather good job getting himself dressed up for the event … unlike his messy friend, who was still trying to figure out the intricacies of his formal wear.<p>

"Kurapika went back to sleep," Leorio reported, throwing himself moodily down on the couch. "Hasn't twitched in over an hour."

"Good," Gon said firmly. Then his determined expression wavered, and his voice changed into a complaint, "Killua! I don't get it!"

Killua looked at the crumpled tangle of his friend's tie and collar – which was somehow _still_ buttoned wrong despite numerous hints – and snickered.

"Here," Leorio offered, getting up from the battered couch. "Let me see that."

He proceeded to not only fix the bow-tie into an acceptable shape, but straighten Gon's entire suit in the process – while taking the opportunity to lecture them both about the importance of arriving at an expensive auction in only the most impeccable outfits.

_Spoil-sport,_ Killua thought, without any real sourness. It wasn't that he enjoyed teasing Gon for being inept, it was just funny to see the other kid's implacable determination completely frustrated by a strip of cloth.

"We should try to wake Kurapika soon," Killua said, when he was done laughing at the two idiots. "Or she might not get up again at all."

"Let her recover naturally," Leorio advised. "One more night of sleep would be good for her. I'd feel better, at any rate."

"That's because you're an idiot," Killua told him.

"What! You punk!"

The next several minutes were devoted to proving his point, traditional Zaoldyek style. Well, almost Zaoldyek style … he didn't want to kill the old man. Not more than once a day, at any rate.

"I mean it," Killua repeated, catching his breath and straightening his own tie. Leorio blinked, from where he had been tossed back onto the couch like an overstuffed cushion. "Kurapika needs to get back on her feet soon. We can't stick around like this forever."

He caught Gon's eye. The other boy shuffled a bit, and ducked his head. Killua sighed.

"Just because it's unpleasant for her to face what's happened doesn't mean it's doing her any good to stay asleep."

_You have to break out,_ he remembered, from his own days moping in the Zaoldyek mansion – before he had decided to seize his own life and chase what he wanted. _You have to accept the bad things and beat them, or run until you can._ But a whisper of old terrors shivered over him anyway.

"She said it herself," he concluded. "We have our own goals. That's why we came to York Shin."

Gon straightened up, apparently taking the motivational speech to heart.

"The auction," he nodded, suddenly resolute. "My dad's game. Getting stronger and learning more about nen."

Relieved, Killua smiled. _That's right. _They should be developing their own strengths. _Become strong, and have no more fear._ It was a hard lesson, one that his brother had taught him long ago. Killua never could feel grateful for that one.

"We're gonna be late," he said, running from the memories one more time. "We'd better leave."

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Leorio?" Gon asked anxiously. "Our ticket will get five people in."

"No," Leorio sighed. "I really couldn't watch people spending all that money."

_More likely, he doesn't want to leave Kurapika alone with only Senritsu to keep watch. _Unexpectedly, Killua felt a flicker of something he refused to call sympathy for the man.

"We have Zepairu coming along already," he reminded Gon. In an undertone he added, "And we don't want Leorio busting up our plan for Greed Island."

"Ah!" Gon exclaimed. "Right! Okay, Leorio – you stay here."

Actually, Killua doubted that Leorio could or would want to do anything that harmed their chances. Gon's plan for getting Greed Island had turned out to be unexpectedly plausible, and Zepairu was handling everything about the money for them. Not that they needed it for anything other than redeeming the Hunter card that Gon staked as collateral for their loan. Leorio had even helped them with that, so it was triply unlikely that he would want to interfere.

Spirits high, they left for the Southern Peace auction.

* * *

><p>Senritsu peered into the wide room they'd adopted as a living and eating area for the last few days, looking for the young doctor. He was sitting on the couch, reading yesterday's newspaper again.<p>

"Leorio."

"Yeah?"

"If you feel fine with being alone for an hour, I'd like to stretch my legs a bit." She winked with cheerful good-humor. "Well, as far as they stretch anyway."

"Go on, go on." He chuckled, doubts soothed even before he was really aware of their existence. "It's fine."

"Just give a shout if you need me. I won't go out of earshot."

"I think I can handle watching a patient sleep."

She left quietly, not wanting to risk waking Kurapika.

Outside, the autumn air was cold, despite the bright sunlight. Their group had chosen to hide in this creaky, empty apartment complex – staking out residence in the ground floor. Senritsu had listened to the floorboards of the second-story and declared it too unstable to walk on for a prolonged period of time. But the ground level was perfectly safe … and the ceiling wouldn't give way unless someone went up there and started jumping around.

Killua had chosen well. As expected of an assassin – he knew how to find good places to lie low even in the midst of a crowded city. Senri hummed to herself. She'd become fond of both the boys, as well as Leorio and Zepairu. They all had dark notes in their melodies, but the sounds were harmonious as a whole.

_Kurapika is a good judge of character – if a bit demanding._

A second, identical set of apartments had been built across a paved courtyard, and it was to that place that Senri turned her steps now. She polished her flute with one sleeve as she walked, reflecting on the current situation. From what Killua and Gon – mostly Gon, of course – had said about the confrontation between Kurapika, the Ryodan, and the ghost, things were dire enough.

_All three sides of this tragedy are unstable. Like a tripod about to fall._ A single wrong move two nights ago, and innocent civilians would have been endangered. Senri believed that it was only divine intervention that had prevented a major calamity.

Her slippers padded a gentle path through the thistles and scrubby poppies blooming in the cracked pavement.

_But this can still be resolved._ Only once in her life had she lost hope … and it would take a lot more than the Genei Ryodan to cast her into despair now. Kurapika and the Kurata, however, were very, very troubling.

Especially Kurapika.

_There's something wrong with the way her heart has been beating._ An irregular, discordant note disrupted the clarity she had admired when they first met. _When did it begin to stutter like that?_ The melody-hunter drummed her fingers gently over the flute's worn metal. _Was it even before York Shin? A hidden dissonance that I failed to detect?_ Every beat of Kurapika's heart sounded labored now – like the organ was struggling just to function at normal capacity.

_But then, that's not the only thing that's been bothering me._

Senri came to a stop at the edge of the weedy courtyard, closing her eyes to better focus her hearing.

"Come out, please," she called to the echoing, abandoned complex of apartments. "I'd like to talk."

No one answered, but a rustle of breath – an involuntary betrayal of surprise – greeted her ears. _Third apartment on the right, first floor. Still the same person as yesterday and the day before._

The melody-hunter sighed.

"I know you're here." She began to walk toward the noise, keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. "I don't want to fight, but I can't keep ignoring you. Please come out and let's talk."

After a moment of tension-filled quiet, a brisk metronome of footsteps sounded over creaking floorboards.

A woman appeared in the broken window, pale in the shadows of the building. Through the bright afternoon glare of the courtyard, it was hard to see inside the room … but that wasn't a problem for someone like Senritsu. She could easily hear the notes of confusion in the other woman's heart. _Surprise. Displeasure. Curiosity. Readiness to fight. _And, deep beneath the other melodies like a sour chord: fear.

"You were thinking about breaking in, now that the boys are gone." Senri smiled, coming to a stop at the other side of the wall. "But that would be a very bad idea. Especially since you're alone."

For a second, the woman opened her mouth to lie … but then something in her heart changed. Perhaps she sensed that Senritsu was not there to harm her. Or perhaps she dismissed the melody-hunter as a threat.

The first visual impression of this person was one of cool, resolved composure – but the uncertainty of her heart thrummed in a rattling contradiction.

"You're a Spider, right?" Senri could hear the wordless answer. "But what would a Spider be doing here? All the others from the Ryodan left this city days ago."

"You're very well-informed."

Her voice was well-controlled too, without a hint of the indecision that weakened her heart.

"I hear things."

She hopped up to sit on the creaky windowsill, her feet dangling. The Spider took one careful step backward. The heels of her shoes clicked like a conductor's baton on a music-stand. _Prelude to the cymbal's crash._

"Now," the melody-hunter continued to speak in a calm, gentle tone, "I've been spending quite a lot of time with an assassin lately, and I don't think that's why you're here."

Nothing changed in the Spider's expression. But Senri could hear her heart's melody, the rhythms of her existence. Any lie would ring false in her perfect, hell-tempered ears. The flute, warmed between her fingers, rested in her lap.

The smile never slipped from her face.

* * *

><p>Kuroro turned another page, flicking through the book for a second time in hopes of catching some word he'd missed before. But no sudden epiphany shone down upon him and no spark of inspiration illuminated the manuscript. Another dead end.<p>

Literature on nen was rare – often hidden or obliquely encoded under the language of some other topic – but some texts _did_ exist. But not, evidently, any that talked specifically about nen-curses. He had begun to suspect that the high-fatality rate associated with the phenomenon had prevented it from being well-documented. Kuroro held books in far too much respect to dump this one on the floor, but he did close it with something of a snap.

Ordinarily, he enjoyed pursuing difficult, obscure subjects … several days without any new leads, however, tested his patience. The feeling that there was something he'd missed, some minor detail overlooked, haunted him. _Something I can't quite recall._

The buzz of his cellphone disrupted the tenuous thought before it could fully develop.

"Oi, Dancho!" Phinks's gruff shout greeted him. "Reporting in to tell you we're still alive! No signs of chain-users, ghosts, or other freaks to be concerned about."

"Any problems?"

"Nah! We nicked the courier just fine on the highway through this damn desert. Feitan's disappointed, though. He wanted to go to the auction."

"Southern Peace is a bit too high-profile for someone who's supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, well, we're headed away from the city now. Got a nice car and everything."

"Good."

Kuroro hung up.

He'd allowed Phinks and his team of Feitan and Hisoka to take a short detour and practice a little highway robbery – some game they wanted to play – but only on the condition that they stay out of York Shin proper and theoretically away from the Kurata's notice. _Evidently, they succeeded._ But he wouldn't feel easy in his mind about it until all of the Spiders reported that they'd left the vicinity.

The Ryodan had split into roughly four teams: the group escorting the treasure back to Shooting Star, the group hunting for a nen-cleanser, the group hunting for the slave-traders, and finally his team. _Thought no word from Paku yet._ She had seemed to think that she would be at least another two days getting to the meeting point.

_And I must be on edge, to be hovering over people's shoulders like this._ Kuroro rubbed a hand over his mouth. His annoyance turned inward, directed at himself. _Really, I haven't been this bad for years._

After a minute of brooding over his irritation, the Spider shook it off. _No time for self-indulgence. Back to work._

"Shalnark," he called across the room to the bank of computer monitors and their user. "Tell me you have something."

"Well," the boy ran a hand through his hair, not really paying attention, "yes and no, boss."

Kuroro got up, leaving his small fortress of books, to drag a complete answer out of his distracted subordinate.

"Explain."

Shalnark blinked up at him for a moment, the glow from the screens reflecting in his eyes as he processed the request. "Oh. Okay. So I wasted a bunch of time looking around for our little chain-user, but got nothing."

"Nothing?" Kuroro raised an eyebrow.

He hadn't expected there to be _much_, but he'd expected more progress on this front.

"Pretty much zero. It's not like this Kurapika is a person in absolute secrecy, but…" Shalnark shrugged. "She might as well be for all we know right now. No previous employment, health, criminal, or education records. No passports or identifying papers, and no bank transactions. She doesn't even have a birth registry anywhere! As far as the net is concerned, she didn't _exist_ before the Hunter Exam. Like—"

"Like she was from Shooting Star."

The other Spider pulled back, alarmed. "Dancho, you don't think she went to _our city_ after the massacre? Damn, that's just too creepy."

"No." Kuroro dismissed the idea. "Shooting Star is a good place to hide from the outside world. But not from the world inside Shooting Star. And colored contact lenses don't keep well in the garbage. Without a reliable disguise, someone would have noticed those eyes sooner or later."

"Right, well … Anyway, aside from about three sentences on the Hunter site there's nothing on her. So I then I thought, how about her tribe?"

Kuroro nodded, since this question seemed to require some response.

"And _that_ is where things get really weird."

"Define weird."

"Umm … it goes from strange to straight-up crazy faster than Feitan in a room full of electrical cables."

"Very colorful but not very informative."

"Okay, okay." The other Spider flashed his customary grin, then sobered again. "So, the Hunter Site has lots of information about the Scarlet Eyes (current prices, list of current owners – for an additional fee, so forget it) and how great they are. Seventh wonder, beautiful treasure, etcetera etcetera. But if you start trying to purchase the linked pages for data on the tribe's territory, history, stuff like that … you get an error message."

"And?"

"And!" Shalnark practically bounced in his seat. "The Hunter Site never has errors! It never crashes, steals your money, gets hacked, or gives false information! In fact, I think it's actually a nen-based program that—"

"Focus, Shal."

"Right. Okay. The point is, if the site doesn't know the information, there shouldn't be a link to these pages. Since the links exist, we know that it _used_ to have the data … but for some reason, access has been restricted. Not only that – someone didn't want it to look like it was restricted, so they blocked the pages with this phony 'error' message instead."

"Why not just erase the pages themselves?"

Shalnark shook his head. "Erasing data once it's been entered would be a direct violation of the rules governing both the Site and the Association. Punishable by revocation of license and your name on the black-list."

"But obstructing access isn't a violation."

"Er … not _directly_. It goes against the spirit of the law, but so long as no one catches on it's probably overlooked."

_Overlooked._ Kuroro shook his head. _There's been too much of that going on lately. And in the past, too. How could I have not noticed—_

And suddenly, the revelation he'd been seeking struck him with all the blinding force of lightning.

"Shal," he said, ignoring whatever the other Spider had been saying, "what do you remember?"

"Uh … about what, Dancho?"

Kuroro sat down suddenly, his chin in his hand.

"The Kurata job. The massacre. What do you remember?"

* * *

><p>"Just watch!" Gon seethed, stomping over the sidewalk. "I'll pass and shut that guy up! He can say whatever he wants! It doesn't make a difference!"<p>

Killua crunched through another piece of candy, keeping up easily with Gon's angry gait. It wasn't so much that their plan for playing Greed Island had failed them, as that they had failed it. _But it's not too late._ The Zaoldyek licked sugar off his fingers, fishing in his pocket with his other hand for another sweet.

"The goatee-man is probably right," he pointed out, figuring that Gon had had enough time to vent. "If Battera really holds a test to hire the best hunters to play the game for him, then we need to be at the next level to get through."

"What do you mean?" his friend demanded, scowling as he kicked at the concrete.

"Right now we're only doing basic exercises." The Zaoldyek held up two fingers, a round candy held between them. "We need hatsu. Special abilities."

Gon chewed that thought over for a few minutes in silence.

_Just as well._ Killua tossed the candy into his mouth. They were getting close to the apartment and the last thing he needed was for Leorio to start grumbling about how they needed to be quiet. _Or worse,_ he shuddered, _one of Senritsu's 'friendly' reminders._ Really, something terrifying happened to women when they got maternal. There was no explaining it.

"Yeah!" the other boy exclaimed suddenly. "Let's show that old man! I'll blow him and his stupid test away!"

_Well, at least he's thinking positive,_ Killua snorted. _Even if he has no appreciation of how difficult it could get._ But that was Gon. He hid his smirk and followed his friend through the broken back door of the apartment complex.

_I know what I have planned for my first experiment—_

He bumped into Gon's back.

"Hey! What—"

There, as cool as you please in the middle of their living area, the memory-reading Spider was sitting and drinking bottled tea with Senritsu.

His nerves set up a screech that was probably audible.

_Pakunoda._ Gon had said she didn't fight like the other one that had captured him, but that was no reason to underrate her abilities. _But still—!_ If it weren't for the fact that Senritsu was sitting there, tranquilly holding her drink and smiling at him, he would have been out the door and down the block by now.

"What's she doing here?" Gon demanded, planting his feet and bristling like an angry dog.

_And where are all the Spiders we don't see?_ Killua's eyes darted over all the possible hiding places, his senses on high alert. _Are we already trapped?_

"She claims she came to talk," Leorio growled from beside the other door.

At least he was keeping watch, but this way the Spider knew exactly which door to go through to kill Kurapika in her sleep.

_Worry about yourself first!_ Killua kicked himself. _Senritsu is acting relaxed, but she could be manipulated! Leorio is acting upset, but he's not doing anything!_

"The rest of the Ryodan isn't in York Shin anymore," Senri said, holding up her hands in placation. "Calm down and listen to what she has to say."

"They pulled this trick last time!" Killua argued. "The Ryodan could've tailed her without her knowing—"

Pakunoda cut him off, inspecting her nails with a critical show of indifference. "The other Spiders wouldn't think of coming here. Not for some time. They won't think the way I do."

"No?" Gon demanded, breaking his aggressive silence. "And how does someone like you think?"

Intense and challenging, his gaze never strayed from her face; the Spider was pretending to ignore it, but Killua knew first hand that it was not easy to be the focus of that stare.

"I think," she said carefully, "that it would be better to discuss this with your Kurata here."

"No."

"Oi, Gon!" Leorio broke in. "Isn't that Kurapika's decision?"

"Only if we wake her up," the boy replied, with admirable ruthlessness. "And I don't see any reason to do that." He glared at the woman. "You get out of here. Now."

"Gon—"

Killua interrupted Senritsu, edging around for a more strategic position, "Sorry Senri, but there's no way to believe that the whole Ryodan isn't here."

And, with Kurapika completely out of action, there was very little chance that they could escape for a third time. _That's no reason not to try!_ Worst case, the whole building was surrounded … but he knew a few tricks. At least, he could try to get Gon out.

"No one came with me," the Spider insisted. "Because they don't know that they don't know."

"Don't talk in riddles!" Leorio growled, flicking his switchblade open and closed like a nervous tic. "Just say what you have to say and be done!"

Pakunoda bit at one fingernail, and Killua was jolted by the smell of blood. The woman was biting into the skin of her fingertip itself. _So hard that it's bleeding._ He felt his muscles tense up so hard they began to lock on him. There was something very wrong with all of this.

But even knowing that, the Spider's next words still blew him away.

"About the Kurata. I erased their memories myself."


	15. Winner's Curse

_Instead of two short, choppy chapters, I decided to make this one really long chapter and an epilogue. (Oh, and I finally gave up trying to describe what Kurapika's clothes are, in favor of the closest possible match: 'keikogi,' a martial artist's uniform.)_

_Thank you everyone who reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen:<strong> Winner's Curse

Pakunoda kept her hands visible at all times. Right now they were folded harmlessly around the plastic bottle of tea that the short woman Senritsu had given to her. Not a bad strategy for defusing the situation; people had the tendency to loosen up when they ate or drank with each other. It put a nice, glossy patina of civilization over otherwise brutal situations.

Of course, that sort of illusion could only do so much to mitigate the effects of the figurative grenade she'd just dropped in the room.

"Erased their memories? It's obviously a lie!" The man, Leorio, was sputtering in a froth of confusion. "Let's just get rid of her and go!"

Unruffled, Pakunoda took another sip of her tea.

"Leorio, calm down."

_This Senritsu is not to be underestimated,_ the Spider thought, watching the hunter sideways as she patiently worked to keep the others from falling into chaos. _She's from the Nostrad family. And of all of the Kurata's self-appointed guardians, she's the most cooperative and effective. _But that just meant she was like Pakunoda herself: feigning transparency to achieve some devious end. Waiting and watching for the right moment to move.

_Watch away. You won't beat me at this game._

But right now, the flutist was not the one that Paku needed to convince.

_Look, _she told the dark-haired boy – the one who had made such an impression on Nobu – with her posture and the hidden nuances of her lying expressions,_ see how open and trusting I am? This is an act of good faith. You're decent people. You should hear me out._ She had to convince them to let her see the Kurata.

Because her back-up plan was suicide.

"You erased your friends' memories," he said abruptly, the fierce scowl never leaving his face.

"Yes."

"Everything about the Kurata and the massacre and the Scarlet Eyes."

"Yes."

She'd left bits and pieces intact, to mimic normal forgetfulness, but the critical events, the build-up and turning points and _reasons_ were all gone.

"Why?"

"Dancho ordered it."

"Your boss _told_ you to rip the information out of his head?" The young Zaoldyek glared. "And the rest of you Spiders just, what – said 'sure, fine! Wasn't going to use that brain-space anyway!'" He snorted. "I doubt it."

"That's because your _friend_ hasn't told you anything." The Spider turned to look through the doorway behind Leorio. "Have you, Kurata?"

The rest of them followed her gaze, seeing what she had spotted several minutes earlier. Kurapika of the Kurata stood in the doorway behind her older friend, dressed in a crumpled white keikogi … and her face was deathly pale, her eyes burning on the edge of scarlet. Her expression was calm enough, but a hint of a tremor deepened one corner of her mouth.

And Pakunoda couldn't keep the sudden, mocking curve of a smirk off her face.

She knew exactly how she would play this game.

* * *

><p>"I get the idea!" Nobunaga snapped. "But I don't get why we should be afraid of a bunch of angry ghosts―"<p>

"Are you saying that the chief is afraid?" Franklin demanded from the helm, his low rumble nearly lost against whine of the boat's engines.

Hidden behind her sewing, Machi's mouth twitched into a sour grimace. _Every time. Same argument._ She was beginning to regret agreeing to join the team escorting Shizuku and the auction goods. Impervious determination kept her fingers steady despite the rocking of the waves as she set another stitch in the obi that had been torn during their extremely hostile takeover of the vessel. She wanted to blame Nobunaga for the damage to her clothing as well as her headache … just on general principle.

Not that he would pay her for it, and not that she would contribute to the ruckus he was _still_ making over their departure from York Shin.

_It's been days, moron._ _Nobody can do anything about it now. _She kept the acidic comments to herself, though. _At least I'm not going with Hisoka to find a nen-cleanser._

"—and how could a _girl_ younger than Shizuku take down Ubo?" Nobu continued to rail in the background.

"Who's younger?" the Spider in question asked, peering up from her book. "Who's a girl?"

"Nevermind, Shizuku." Machi snipped the nen-thread with her teeth, and began to re-tie the obi. "Just let him vent."

Whatever might be said about the strength of the dead, she was not going to underrate the abilities of someone who had managed to catch even Kuroro unawares. _And I'm certainly not going to discriminate just because it turned out to be a female._ Maybe she should hit Nobunaga anyway, just for good measure.

He could afford to act pig-headed because he hadn't been outwitted by a kid who hadn't even broken twenty yet. _Oh, wait. He was out-maneuvered by a couple of twelve-year-olds. How could I forget?_ An acerbic twist of the seamstress's lips lived and died unnoticed.

Her hand reached up to rub her shoulder. _But he didn't see the look in her eyes._ Machi wasn't stupid. She'd seen a lot of dangerous, unbalanced people before and after joining the Ryodan. Nobunaga might confuse himself with revenge, and the chief might want to dissect their target … but she wasn't going to screw around next time the chain-user dropped into her web.

This was about survival.

_'Dead or alive. By any means.'_

On the seat beside her, her phone began to shrill – a text message clamoring for attention.

Machi scanned it quickly … and suddenly, there was a lot more to worry about than one or two annoying traveling companions.

* * *

><p>Kurapika crossed the threshold, praying that her steps look measured instead of exhausted. Ice and fire swept in needling waves across the back of her skull. <em>I might do permanent damage to my optic nerves, stressing them right now.<em> But she didn't know if she had the willpower to hold back the red.

She had woken to the sound of tense voices, and her raw, bruised senses had recognized the presence of an enemy.

Scenarios, possibilities, and calculations had flashed through her mind as she stood breathing dust and dry-rot in the shadow of a mouldering hallway. But she had no solution and no plans anymore. _I have no strength to rely on. _The numb lethargy of her nightmares clung to her, even after waking; even as her eyes stung with the promise of renewed strength.

It felt like she was still bleeding from invisible wounds.

And of course a Spider had come, to take advantage.

"Kurapika!" Gon looked torn between relief at her recovery, and dismay at her timing.

"How long have you been awake?" Leorio demanded, hovering over her shoulder.

She shrugged off his hand. "Long enough to grasp the essentials."

Neither she nor the Spider blinked as they stared each other down.

The woman set aside her drink on the battered table between her and Senritsu, folding her hands deliberately atop the scratched wood. A placating gesture … But Kurapika would not be fooled.

The look in those grey eyes was shrewd, alert, and covertly pleased. This was not a person who had come to talk. This was someone who expected to lie, manipulate, and steal whatever she wanted.

_Information. She's a scout. A jackal come to nose out the body, to see if it's really dead._

Kurapika brushed past Leorio, Gon and Killua, ignoring half-formed protests and alarm.

But she simply traversed the room to lean against the window frame – not so subtly blocking the last exit – and crossed her arms.

"So," she prompted, ignoring their obvious surprise at her ambivalent attitude. "Talk."

But it was Gon who jumped ahead of the conversation.

"What does she mean, Kurapika? Why would the Ryodan need amnesia?"

"Personal connection," she answered, her gaze never leaving the Spider's face. "A killing-curse both generates and requires specific conditions. One of those is a mutual tie: a common link that binds the dead and the living together. By cutting off their memories of the shared event, the Ryodan erased their half of that equation."

Leaving the other half unbalanced, unable to resolve.

"Not an ideal method." The woman shrugged, her agreement a mockery and an insult. "But enough to avoid the worst effects."

"But that would be _after_ the curse was born, so how—"

"Later, Gon." For once, Kurapika didn't want to get mired in an abstract discussion. "The theory works in practice. It's more important to think about the unintended consequences in the present, than the actions of the past."

_'Destroy, destroy, destroy.'_ No wonder the curse had lashed out blindly, unable to fix upon a target. _Until a reconnecting moment. _Kurapika's fingers twitched. _The Scarlet Eyes ripped away. My blood spilled by the same hands._ Had the Spider realized it – or were they calling out blindly into the dark, navigating by echoes?

"That's right, boy. How this happened is somewhat irrelevant." The Spider studied her nails with a show of boredom. "So, if that's settled … I want to talk to you alone, Kurata."

"…Fine."

"What!" Leorio looked like he was going to have an apoplectic fit.

"We'll wait in the other room," Senri announced, hopping down from her chair.

"Like hell—!"

The melody-hunter smiled, and held a finger to her lips.

Kurapika could see the exact second that Leorio realized how little privacy a door would afford when someone of Senritsu's ability determined to listen in on the conversation. Their departure would do little to conceal whatever it was the Spider wanted to protect, and the delay of getting from room to room would be off-set by Senri's ability to detect aggressive intent before it developed into action.

_Her strategy will change with only one opponent to focus on. It seems to even the field, but it actually gives us the advantage._ Which was good because right now all of them were weaker than the woman sitting so carelessly in their midst.

Leorio must have figured it out because he subsided into a muttered, grumbling monologue and allowed himself to be towed out of the room.

"Killua and I met her before." Ever honest, Gon didn't beat around the bush. "She's Pakunoda. She can read your memory by touching you and asking questions."

If the revelation dismayed the Spider, she was too experienced to let it show.

"Here." She tossed Gon a slim black cellphone. "Now even if I steal a memory or two, I can't send any hidden signal or transmit any information before your friend stops me."

Stubborn, he opened his mouth to argue — Kurapika caught Killua's eye, and tilted her head ever so slightly. _Convince him._ The Zaoldyek gave her a hard look, but put his hand on Gon's shoulder and hissed something inaudible in the other boy's ear.

A second's hesitation, and then Gon scowled.

"If you do anything else to Kurapika," he glared defiantly up at Pakunoda, "I definitely won't forgive you."

The door closed behind him with a firm click, leaving her alone with the Spider.

* * *

><p>Kuroro sat, his fingers steepled and pressed against his nose. The room was growing dark as the sun sank behind the buildings of Zaban City, lit only by the bank of computer monitors and their screens full of error messages. Immersed in thought, he barely tracked Shalnark's movement back and forth before those lights.<p>

"It was just another job," the boy was muttering, digging around in the technological detritus at his feet. "I wasn't really paying attention. I mean … I guess it just didn't make an impression after all and …"

"That's what I thought too," Kuroro agreed, half-speaking to his hands. "But we shouldn't need to do any research now. We should have gathered everything we needed to know on the target before we moved against them. A job that big – I'd have been insane to jump in without some idea of what was waiting at the bottom."

"Eh, were the Kurata that strong? I thought … Huh." The boy scratched the back of his head ruefully. "I guess I didn't think much. It was a long time ago."

_It was four years ago._ Kuroro rubbed a knuckle against his forehead, staring unseeingly at the carpet. _When did it start to seem like four decades?_

"Shalnark, tell me your first memory involving the Kurata." He held up a hand to forestall the initial rush of chatter. "Not your clearest, but the one you think comes first in the timeline."

For a minute, the other Spider sat there – tapping the prongs of a power-cord against his palm – then he shrugged.

"Eh … I was walking up a path to their village, maybe. A mountain forest. There were these little stone shrines marking the way. I was thinking they looked kind of like Coltopi―"

Kuroro interrupted, "There's water flowing somewhere to the left―"

"―I was alone―"

"―the weather is unusually cold for summer―"

"―my feet hurt―"

"―and someone up ahead starts screaming."

They stared at each other for a surreal second.

"So we have—" Shalnark trailed off, shaking his head at the impossibility of it.

"We have exactly the same memory."

It was that little detail about the shrines looking like Coltopi that gave the game away … an almost unnoticeable flaw, since that sort of mental comparison wasn't one that would be included in a mission report. Kuroro's eyes narrowed and his fingers clenched abruptly, twisting around air.

"Close enough to the same, anyway. Are you finished?"

"Huh?"

"The speaker system."

"Oh, right!" Shalnark dove under the table that supported his monstrous collection of monitors. "One sec!"

Surprisingly, he did indeed emerge seconds later, minus the power cable.

"Okay, Dancho." He sat back from where he fiddled with an eclectic set of cables and speakers; his cellphone perched atop the mess, a tiny idol on its mechanical altar. "Everyone should be able to hear everyone now. Go ahead and call Machi again whenever you're ready."

Grim, Kuroro got to his feet. He never shrank from distasteful tasks … but the coming conversation promised to be a special brand of unpleasant. Because for this level of subversion, this kind of perfectly hidden deceit, there was only one possible suspect.

_A traitor._

He'd never have thought it. Not from anyone in the Ryodan.

* * *

><p>Kurapika had always suspected that the Spiders had done something to protect themselves from the curses … but the truth was quite beyond her darkest imagining. <em>To willingly give up your own mind. To forget that you'd ever forgotten.<em> Her hands curled in disdain, gripping her bruised ribs. _Cowards._

"I'm surprised," Pakunoda commented, one broken fingernail tapping against the tabletop. "I'd have thought you were more cautious than this."

The Kurata didn't move from her post at the window … without the rest of her friends to form a box, it was her escape route now. _My strength has become nothing more than a thin crust of ice over dark water. Do not trust it._

"But by now you've probably realized that killing you really isn't in my best interests," the woman smiled, inviting her to share the irony.

The expression vanished after a moment, dying under Kurapika's cold, indifferent eyes. She waited an extra minute, until the silence became too loud for itself.

"Get to the point." Her right hand slipped down, half-hidden behind her. Just in case she needed the chains after all. "Don't waste time."

"Fine." Pakunoda straightened out of her casual posture, all overtures of false humor disappearing. "I want to cut a deal. You promise me one thing, and I'll give you a crucial piece of information that I suspect you lack."

Kurapika didn't blink. _Frozen, like the snow._ Her tenuous internal balance could be destroyed by the flicker of an eyelash. Though she was probably as likely to collapse, as to fly into a mindless rage. Only Senri could have detected how weak she was, however. And Senri would never betray her.

"What promise?"

"Swear that you'll leave the Ryodan out of your clan's little problems from now on. Walk away from the Spider and never look back."

"And what could possibly be worth that much to me?"

A soft, cunning smirk stole across the other woman's mouth. "The person who hired us to wipe out your tribe, of course."

The edges of her broken heart grated against each other, fire and blood pouring through the cracks.

But Kurapika stemmed the tide, and shook her head.

"I'm no fool. The Genei Ryodan doesn't take out contracts. You might indulge in the occasional act of backhanded charity, but I don't recall hearing that anyone ever _asked_ for your attention."

Pakunoda twitched, a little surprised.

"Not anyone who had two braincells to rub together," she admitted wryly. "But in our early days there were … exceptions."

"And you expect me to believe that the massacre was one of them."

"It's the truth."

Kurapika shook her head again, more in disapproval than denial. "First: anyone rich enough to hire the Ryodan would be rich enough to make a target. You're more likely to have stolen _from _the client than _for _him. Second: if this person hired you to steal the Scarlet Eyes, thirty-six pairs wouldn't have appeared on the black market a few days later. There's not enough profit in selling them that way. Third: you've already confessed to erasing your comrades' minds. But some of your own memories must be missing as well. Up to and including the reasons behind the massacre."

The Spider's mask cracked ever so slightly. "And you base that final statement on…?"

"Your presence here." Kurapika's fists clenched, an empty, bitter gesture. "If you knew what was coming, you'd have left York Shin the moment you uncovered my identity. Or you would have shared everything with your comrades. You are here. They know nothing. Therefore, you cannot have the information you claim to offer."

Unwillingly disappointed, she turned away. A breath of sunset warmed air touched her cheek, brushing away the misplaced emotion. _Be unmoved as the mountain cliffs._ This woman here meant nothing. One way or another, she had not been responsible. _And I am not going to lower myself to taking revenge on someone else's tools. Not anymore._

"This client, if he exists, has already taken steps to hide himself from the retribution of the Spider itself. You'd never have left a loose thread like that hanging. Not after you realized what a hazard the Scarlet Eyes pose to your own well-being. And your organization is neither careless nor forgiving. Either this person is unidentified, dead … or a complete fabrication designed to deflect me."

"Very nice. You track better than I expected after that ill-advised attack of yours on our base."

Kurapika refused to be baited. _I have no need to justify myself to a thief and a murderer._

"There's just one answer I want from you."

"Oh?" The dry, sarcastic note returned to the Spider's voice. "What's that?"

Kurapika pierced her with dangerous, half-crimson eyes. "What you could possibly gain from wasting my time with such a clumsy story."

The Spider's smile grew into a mocking, predatory smirk.

"Just few minutes of your undivided attention."

_What—! _Kurapika's head whipped around, reality snapped into perspective with the shock of a breaking bone.

_A distraction!_

Something in the other room exploded – a blast flash of light and piercing sound bursting through the cracks in the door frame.

And the Spider launched herself from her chair, clotheslining Kurapika in her unthinking break for the other room.

An elbow hooked around her neck, a gun pressed into her temple as the Spider used momentum to pivot her lighter weight around and force her to her knees.

Pakunoda laughed, breathless and scornful. "You know, Kurata, you talk too much."

The shock subsided quick, dowsed by a cold rush of anger.

Kurapika didn't resist as the older woman let go of her neck to jerk one arm up behind her back. Even with her senses dulled, clouded by overextension and days of sleep, she could feel the menace of the gun at her head. _A nen-weapon._ For a mind-reader Pakunoda, it could only serve as a tool to alter other people's memories.

_I can't let myself forget—!_

"You were wrong about one thing." Malice shot through the Spider's voice as she leaned down whisper in her ear. "I came because I _do_ know."

Kurapika's breath cut short.

"I know exactly what kind of a monster you are. And I would shout it from the rooftops if I thought that would put an end to your miserable tribe for once and for all."

_No!_

The Kurata bit deeply into her lip, willing herself not to cry out.

"Now." The gun dug a little harder into the side of her head. "Not that this year's York Shin auction hasn't been a pleasure … but I'm going to need you to forget all about it. And the Spider, of course. First, though, I have to ask—"

Behind her back, Kurapika's fingers jerked.

The chain-jail coiled into existence, already entangling its prey.

With a startled breath, Pakunoda fell back, her weapon vanishing from her hand. In that split-second, Kurapika spun to kick the older woman's feet out from under her … even as a torrent of darkness crackled over her own vision: a tide of pain so intense that her nerves flared and died before it.

The scarlet of her eyes was a fire in her bones and a white screaming in her mind.

One moment of pure chaos later, and she held the Spider trapped on the ground: her left hand at the other's throat, her knees pinning the woman's forearms to the floor. Instinct had taken over, was driving her to crush the threat_—_

Which was a good thing, because the chain-jail was gone, melting back into non-existence as the effort of controlling her Scarlet Eyes became too great. Dark, ashy streaks marked her skin where the metal rings should have wrapped her fingers. _Burned off._ It was still too early to rely on nen.

Not that it mattered; the Spider was holding very still, breathing very carefully and obviously trying to avoid asphyxiation.

_Coward._

"If you remember everything," Kurapika hissed, her heart seared cold by the raging heat, her voice and skin and soul frozen in a moment of perfect, leaden resolution. "If you really _know_, then you won't doubt that I could annihilate your Ryodan. As easily as I could snap your neck right now."

_I should have—_The thought, a grating shard of obsessed regret, got beaten back before it could distract her from the present.

"Dancho thinks you need us alive to access the curses," Pakunoda gritted out, the animosity and disgust finally revealed in her eyes as the last mask dropped. "But I don't think that's true at all."

A touch of white was spreading around her lips, and her breathing labored through the chokehold that Kurapika had on her throat. _Where are the rest of the Scarlet Eyes? Do you even know? _Grim, she refused to lighten her grip.

"That's right." She ground the woman's head into the dirt of the floor. "I don't need you for anything. You're worthless to me."

"So why haven't you killed me yet?"

Kurapika realized her mistake and let go faster than if she'd really been on fire … but it was too late: without her chain-jail to prevent it, the memories had already traveled between them.

The Spider's expression opened in genuine surprise.

"Ubo—?"

Reflexive, defensive, the judgment chain materialized and lashed forward in the same instant.

"_Hey kid, I wanna talk."_

Shaking, Kurapika stared at where the chain pierced the Spider's exposed skin, below the collarbone. Biting into the heart. Pain and a twisted, torturous shame writhed in her head.

"_Wish I had the chance to fight you again, Kurata!"_

She had no doubt what Pakunoda had just seen in her mind.

All the doubts, the hesitation and weakness that plagued her. The horror of blood on her hands, the ghost at her shoulder. The irreconcilable _fact_ that Ubo had proved stronger in death than she could ever hope to be in life. How she had been willing to sacrifice everything her tribe held sacred for something as debased as revenge … How she still wanted to, so badly she might break.

"_I'll bring you down—Idiot."_

Years of hatred, resentment, and grief were finally turning inward to claw her to pieces.

"Well." Pakunoda chuckled just a little unsteadily, her light grey eyes mocking even as she sprawled gracelessly on the floor at Kurapika's feet. "Aren't you the adorable little demon."

"Shut up."

Kurapika despised the way her voice trembled, the way her hands were shivering with reaction. Anger. Anxiety. _Fear._

"Is that a law?" the Spider taunted, a spiteful barb of humor catching in her smirk. "Be careful. You wouldn't want to do anything _regrettable_, now would you?"

"I said, shut up!"

She wanted to sound forceful, intimidating – but the words wrenched out of her with all the rough vulnerability of desperation. The brief surge of adrenaline was draining away, too impermanent a fuel to sustain her ability. The judgment chain would break in a minute or less if she didn't set conditions. Its links would shatter and cut her fragile strength to pieces. And then her last defenses would be stripped away.

Not even Ubo, with his unexpected, intrusive insight, had seen deeply into her psyche … He had never realized that he held all the keys to her destruction. Except maybe in his last moments.

Stretched between them, the chain slithered around her enemy's heart: identical to the one piercing her own. A punishing serpent: waiting to strike.

"These are the laws."

Last time, she had miscalculated – the target had thrown himself beyond her reach. Twice. And in so doing he had almost destroyed her will to act against the Ryodan.

"First, I forbid any use of nen."

This time, the restriction had to be flawless. _I need a miracle to achieve a perfect result._

But Kurapika had nothing.

"Second…"

If she had never witnessed Ubo's self-sacrifice, never been forced to acknowledge the Ryodan's strength, she could have denied their humanity with all her soul. But now she knew better, and the knowledge choked her. _"One of them crying—said he would never forgive–"_ Gon's words came back to haunt her. And her fingers stung with the memory of blood.

_Neither will I forgive._

"You will sever all ties between yourself and the Ryodan."

The length of chain wound between them tightened, then disappeared as the restriction took effect.

After a moment, Pakunoda picked herself up from the floor. They stood face to face for a second: an unrelenting silence.

"Right." The woman dusted herself off, and the Kurata found herself envying that quick recovery – that brisk armor of efficiency and composure. Ignorant, the Spider continued, "It seems there's nothing more to say."

Words caught in Kurapika's throat like thorns: a clawing, cancerous growth of accusation and triumph, cruelty and despair.

_Now you can bear the burden of solitude. Wander powerless and alone through a world that hates you. _Just a little touch of the hell that Kurapika herself had endured. _Know that even you cannot steal back what you have lost!_

But the satisfaction soured like blood in her mouth, as every victory twisted to wound her in the end.

So she did not move as Pakunoda vaulted stiffly over the windowsill, jumping the short distance to the parched courtyard outside.

But the Spider paused there, not quite looking back over her shoulder.

"What Ubo told you was true. Everyone dies eventually."

And then she was gone, her long shadow disappearing into the blue shades of evening.

_Right._ The fire was burning out in Kurapika's veins. _But we're alive right now. And I win again._ Her hands came up to cover her eyes. _I win._

The world around her tilted, turning with deceptive lethargy off its axis. Stupid with too many kinds of exhaustion, she realized that she was the one moving, falling through a universe that would no longer bear her weight. Kurapika landed on her back, feeling the uneven creak of old floorboards and tasting the chalky dust of old plaster. Slowly, she uncovered her eyes to stare up through the window. The waning moon peered back: a dead eye in a shattered socket.

_For what disaster, _she asked silently, _For what calamity are you the harbinger now?_

Austere and untouched, the moon refused to answer.

* * *

><p>Killua had a lot of practice with unconventional weapons of chaos and destruction. His brother Milluki enjoyed pulling nasty pranks on his siblings using whatever gadget might be nearest at hand when inspiration (or more likely, a half-imaginary grudge) struck. Of course, he more often than not failed to remember that he'd tampered with an item … a quirk which lead to him falling into his own traps more often than not.<p>

But it had been months since Killua had last seen his fat pig of a brother – months to get out of the habit of checking every unknown piece of machinery for ugly surprises.

His only defense for not realizing that the Spider's cellphone was a dummy, rigged to act as a flashbomb, was that the Ryodan seemed so ridiculously strong it would be equally ridiculous for one of them to rely on a bit of hacked-up tech to achieve her ends.

_Dumbass._ He kicked himself again. _Any good assassin knows that you never, ever group all your team together in one place. It's so obvious, it's not even a Zaoldyek rule of thumb. It's common sense!_

Fortunately, no one had died for their collective idiocy.

But the Spider had escaped.

Silent, pale as one of her ghosts, Kurapika sat on one end of the couch they'd picked up from a road-side auction. She was responsive – if monosyllables counted as responses – and seemed to be in decent shape despite a slight disconnection from reality.

_What, exactly, happened?_ The question was eating him up … but being nosy was Gon's department. And Gon was still mumbling nonsensical half-sentences and walking into walls.

Killua watched the other boy smack into a chair, too uncoordinated to even sit down properly.

Predictably, Leorio reached out to rescue him.

"Don't—" The old man winced as his voice came out too loud for his damaged ears. "Don't wander around so much. Just let your ears repair themselves and your balance will return."

"What?" Gon almost fell over when he tried to turn his head. "What'd you say?"

Under other circumstances, watching Leorio cup his hands around his mouth and shout into Gon's ear like the boy was a deaf old man would have been one of the high-lights of Killua's week.

Of all of them, the doctor had come out in the best condition. Leorio's sunglasses had finally come into their own … protecting him from the worst of the blinding light-show. Unfortunately, he was by no means invulnerable to the sonic attack that accompanied it. _He's the least skilled, though. Least useful in the face of a follow-up strike._ The Zaoldyek grimaced as his own ears popped again. Innate recuperative powers could only do so much to shield him from damage after all.

Senri had gotten the worst of it, though.

More sensitive to sound than the rest of them, her eardrums had been completely burst. In Killua's professional opinion, it would take several more hours for them to repair. Being unconscious was probably good, since it kept her from straining herself.

_Unlike the rest of us._

He glanced out of the window again, nerves still on edge. Then he turned back to confront Kurapika. With Gon still dazed from the flashbomb, someone had to step up and fill his place.

_As usual, I'm the only one who thinks realistically._

The Zaoldyek confronted Kurapika, staring until she could no longer avoid his eyes.

"Since she was so busy making sure no one else could listen in, the Spider must have told you what she wanted." Killua shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the girl. "And I think we're entitled to know why she tried to blind and deafen us."

"A fight—" Leorio began, but Kurapika cut him off.

"More like the opposite." She let out a breath that was not quite a sigh, not quite a huff of irritation. But at least she was talking in full sentences again. "I think she wanted to avoid fighting. Anyway, I turned down her deal." A flash of her old, stubborn annoyance surfaced in her voice. "I don't need that kind of help."

Leorio crossed his arms. "And what about our help?"

"Of course I'm grateful for everything you've done," Kurapika snapped back, ears flushing. The offering of a fight did wonders for her ability to recover.

_But there was no 'of course' about it three days ago … _The Zaoldyek shrugged it off. Let Gon or Leorio or Senritsu worry about Kurapika's internal contradictions. He'd long ago learned from dealing with his mother that it was better to let some mysteries stay mysteries. Killua shuddered.

"Great." Leorio was still frowning at the girl. "You can show your gratitude and respect by explaining why the Spider left so quietly."

"My ability." She ground the heel of her palm into one eye like it hurt her. "I caught her and bound her with a law. She's cut off from her comrades and her nen, under penalty of death."

Killua hesitated. Ordinarily, he would have been all over a hint of new information about hatsu … but recent events had left him less than certain he wanted to know everything there was to know.

"So Pakunoda—"

"Can no longer access her aura."

Kurapika's expression shook him a little as she said that: serene, almost happy – a pair of emotions the Kurata rarely displayed. Outside, night had fallen. The shadows could be concealing any number of enemies … But Killua put his trust in his friend's word, and turned away from the dark.

_I need more power,_ he thought for the zillioneth time. _Techniques of my own that are strong enough to protect what I want to protect._ The Zaoldyek did not want to rely on a friend's sacrifice for his own survival again.

Next time, it could be Gon.

_And that sort of 'others first' thinking is rare enough in this world. _For a moment, he remembered all the reasons why he did not want to return home – even though it was the obvious path to training and strength – to become an assassin once more. He knew that the easy road power was an illusion.

_I no longer believe that friends are a weakness._ Didn't it take a lot more courage to let people get close, even when you were afraid of trusting them? You needed a lot more guts to risk their disappearance even after they became important to your happiness.

True strength came at a high personal cost.

* * *

><p>Kurapika awoke just after dawn, to the harsh music of two crows quarreling outside the shattered window. She was alone in the room, for the first time since the fever had set in. Senri's bedding was stacked neatly beside the door, but there was no sign of the melody-hunter or her flute-case. And no raised voices from the other room; no suspicion of an enemy scraped around the edges of her awareness.<p>

Kurapika accepted the solitude gratefully.

The night before had ended with her being interrogated by her friends, which was far better than being interrogated by an enemy … but more uncomfortable in some ways. She had explained the basics about the ways she fought the Ryodan – the chain and the oath – but avoided talking about the curse. To their credit, no one had asked.

_Anyway, they should be safe enough not knowing. For the moment._

She refused to consider that this kind of thinking could intersect with whatever had motivated Pakunoda to erase her own comrades' minds.

_We're not the same at all._

The rules she had imposed on the woman were little better than a delaying tactic: a serious, but ultimately futile inconvenience. Any competent nen-cleanser could remove the judgment chain … _Though not the curse itself. _It took more than a few prayers, an indifferent offering from a stranger to relieve the souls trapped within the Red Eyes. She knew better than anyone. _Besides which, such people are hard to find._ It would take months to find a real cleanser. Without nen, or teammates, it might even take years.

By that time, Kurapika's task would be finished.

And then all the Spider's memories and offers and lies would be worth less than the dust and ashes they were.

In the present, however, time was sliding by, and soon sunlight poured through the window like a flood.

Stretching, she ran a hand through her messy hair and got up to wash. Someone, probably Senri, had thoughtfully fetched her few belongings from the motel – so Kurapika was able to change into the familiar, comforting layers of her tribal dress. With steady hands, she adjusted the collar of her blue tunic, smoothing the gold lining under her fingers. The lighter blond of her hair just brushed her shoulders; it had grown again, since she last trimmed it.

Out of habit, she reached out to pick up the case with her contact lenses — and paused. The cracked, warped mirror in the bathroom showed her a pale face and deeply shadowed eyes. Beneath her fingers, the plastic case felt smooth and cool. Slowly, she set it back on the counter, unopened.

Before she left the room, she folded up her own bedding and left it beside Senri's.

"Kurapika!" Gon grinned brightly as she made her way out to the larger room they seemed to have adopted as their central living area. "Do you want breakfast?" He pointed to the large pile of fruit – fresh enough to exude the faint sweetness of early autumn's first harvest – between him and Leorio. "It's just apples, but they're really good!"

_I have nothing but trouble to give you in return._ Kurapika squashed her self-pity and joined them instead. Maybe it was good for her to try to become strong enough to bear their weight in return: to match the support they gave her so easily.

"Wasn't there someone else here?" she asked, frowning as a set of irregular memories intruded. "I thought I saw … someone missing."

"Zepairu!" Gon exclaimed, real enthusiasm coloring his voice. He tugged her over to one of the frayed, battered armchairs and pushed her down into it. "He's so cool! He works auctions professionally, you know, and he told me all about how to make forgeries of ancient treasure pots!"

"What?"

Killua winced a bit at her tone.

"Not that we've been making forgeries ourselves," Gon hastened to assure her, with a slightly nervous grin. "But we got accused of it!"

Kurapika relaxed and let the story of their antics in the auction wash over her, settling back into the chair with only a slight sneeze as dust assailed her. The air of the place tasted of must and mold … and now the faint, sweet fragrance of ripe apples. Strangely, she wasn't hungry.

It was depressing to realize that her guard was so low that Leorio managed to sneak up on her – unintentionally, of course – and lean over the back of the chair before she detected his approach. She hoped that he didn't notice the faint stiffening of alarm that struck her when she smelled his cologne and realized how close he stood.

"I'm sorry. You know, about what I said that time."

"No, I should apologize," she replied, under the racket of Killua and Gon arguing some finer point of their adventures. "I acted … unreasonably."

He ruffled her hair, and they said nothing else.

But his presence at her shoulder was awkward, and slightly uncomfortable, so she left him for the window.

Sunlight warmed her cheeks and the backs of her hands.

_Another day the Spider survives. I let another one go._

Even without the danger of it affecting the Eyes, another dead Spider would just become a fatal liability. Especially since she refused to believe that a second member of the Ryodan would be able to duplicate Ubo's escape from his own malice. She shook her head, angry with herself or the dead man or maybe just the whole world.

_I don't want to think about it._

"Kurapika?"

She looked up to find that Gon and Killua had both slipped past her, out of the windowsill to the empty lot of grass and weeds below.

"Yes?"

"We're going to go get food," Killua declared — which meant that they were going to get cake.

"Stay safe," she replied, more out of habit than any premonition of danger.

"Bye!" Gon shouted over his shoulder, already speeding off across the grass.

Killua lingered a second to shoot a meaningful look at Leorio _– probably conspiring to keep me immobile for longer_. Then he waved once, before racing after Gon across the open space and through the dilapidated apartments on the other side. Kurapika watched their shadows vanish, cold. _I lost track of their presences for a full second, or two._ That kind of carelessness could get her killed.

Her strength was very slow to return.

"Are you going to be alright?" Leorio asked from beside her, with a gruff kind of concern that meant he was trying not to remind her of his previous, disastrous attempt to get between her and her goals any more than he had to. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know. Just walk away free."

He sounded wistful, and unhappy for her, so she gave him as warm a smile as she could.

"Thank you, Leorio."

The older man ducked his head, and smiled back—looking embarrassed for some reason.

Kurapika leaned out the window and let her smile fade.

_Thank you, even though you're wrong._ After all that had happened, however, she could not say such a thing to him. _There's no such thing as freedom when the dead are bound to you by chains of blood and bone and love and hate._ She could no more walk away from the Eyes and their curse than she could walk away from herself.

The wind felt chill against her face and forearms as she tilted backwards out the window to see the bright autumn sky.

* * *

><p>Kuroro paced the roof of the building he and Shalnark had taken over, kicking rusty pipes and crumbling masonry out of his way in a rare display of moodiness. The wind blew his long jacket around him, carrying the big-city smells of cars and trash and too little sun and too many people. He shoved his hands deep into the coat pockets and brooded.<p>

After a long period of finishing each other's sentences, the Ryodan (sans Phinks and Feitan, whom Hisoka reported as already immersed in their game-world) had reconstructed a rough idea of what could be recalled.

The false memories lurched unevenly through the massacre: from entering the village to crossing some sort of stone room, people running every direction, bodies scattered on the ground, the Scarlet Eyes in row after row of glass cases … A story without context, the important pages torn out.

_Even the sensory impressions move in the same order._

Now here he was over a day after that discovery: still struggling to articulate just what about the current situation so disturbed him. It could just be that he was being forced to doubt his decisions and observations in the past, and put in the uncomfortable position of questioning long-held certainties … But it struck even closer to heart than that.

_It's a matter of personal equilibrium._

He'd lost his hand, his nen, and almost seen the Spider laid to waste by one of the very objects he'd come to steal.

_Kurapika._ He twisted the name around in his mind, broke it into pieces and tried to assess her value. The wind caressed him with the memory of summer, but the chill of autumn had already wormed its way under his skin. He raked a tired hand through his hopelessly disarranged hair. _The Scarlet Eyes._

More than the possibility of curses or rage-inspired avengers, he was concerned about what his own followers might do to force a crisis.

Nobu, Phinks, and Feitan would want to hunt the Kurata down and make her pay for interfering with their lives. Machi hadn't said much, but he suspected she was just too proud to admit agreement with the brasher element of their brigade. Hisoka and Shizu, as usual, changed their minds every third second. Franklin, Shalnark, Coltopi, and Bonorolf were all in favor of a more cautious approach.

And Pakunoda, whose abilities would have been invaluable in extracting information from their target, had vanished.

_Her memory-manipulation makes her very difficult to track. The loss of those skills will also be a problem for us._

That, even more than the possibility of betrayal, was the real source of his rising alarm. The betrayal hurt, of course … but he wasn't one to let that sort of feeling get in his way. Far more troubling was the realization that the Ryodan had become too dependent on the functionality of one or two key members. More than their misjudgment of Paku, he could not abide the thought that the Spider itself might suffer a fatal collapse from his poor leadership.

_Unacceptable._

Kuroro balanced on the railing of the hotel, staring west in the direction of far-off York Shin. _Someone, or something, in this situation has to bend … or break. _He refused to let it be his Spider. Anything but that.

"_It's confirmed."_ Machi's last message was still shining from his cellphone. _"No trace of Pakunoda on any of the public transportation records out of York Shin. What's the plan?"_

But for once, Kuroro Lucifer found himself at a loss.

* * *

><p>"So, you're going to do it?" Gon asked, after a long afternoon of rather nostalgic bickering. "Just leave the Ryodan behind and concentrate on the Eyes?"<p>

Kurapika nodded, going through the contents of the small bag that contained all her worldly possessions. Her eyes still ached, but Leorio could find no lasting signs of injury. The sick, throbbing pain should vanish so long as she got proper sleep for the next few days.

"They know less about the massacre than I do. We have nothing to do with each other now."

_What I need to do is stop wasting time._ Her true priorities never changed. The Ryodan had been a target only because she believed they had all the answers. Knowing that they did not … _A loss, but also a relief._ She could let them go without choking on her own bile.

"Even if you leave them alone, and even if you've found a way to render their nen useless–" hissed Killua from where he stood on her other side, "–they could still overwhelm you after the curses are gone. You shouldn't have told us something as important as your ability!"

Kurapika smiled. "I wanted to." She looked up from checking the maps in their pocket of her pack. "Since I have such good friends."

No one answered that, and she returned to folding her spare clothes neatly into the bag.

Leorio started, "If you're leaving to lead them away from us—"

"No."

"But isn't it too dangerous!" Leorio continued to protest. "Letting them live after they know who you are!"

"Being what I am is dangerous," Kurapika interjected into the pause of his indrawn breath. "Taking the Scarlet Eyes back and purifying them is enough of a challenge."

"Hisoka is one of them too," Gon said, bouncing on her heels as she headed into the bathroom to put in her contacts. "He might be willing to warn you in a pinch."

She nodded, though it was a very remote possibility.

"I don't see why we can't help you instead," Leorio muttered, belligerent but lacking a target.

"You didn't see that curse-aura," Killua snapped. "Don't be overconfident."

"Yeah!" Gon agreed readily. "It was all like–like―" he waved his arms with exuberant vagueness, "Dark! And glowing at the same time! And screeching! I thought we would _die._" He sounded more impressed than disturbed by the possibility.

"Next to that," his friend added thoughtlessly, "even the Ryodan didn't seem so bad."

Gon clapped a hand over the boy's mouth. "Killua!"

"What?" The Zaoldyek got a look at Kurapika's face. "Er … sorry."

She shrugged, making a conscious effort to resist reacting bitterly to what was quite a reasonable statement.

_"I know."_

More than anything that the lying Pakunoda had said, that one revelation had left Kurapika cold and desolate with fear.

But the rest of the Spiders knew nothing. And anyone clever and powerful enough to use them as pawns would be clever and powerful enough to thoroughly erase his tracks. Otherwise, the Ryodan would have caught on long ago and eliminated the puppet-master in reprisal for his interference. Or been eliminated by him, which might still happen if they decided to investigate.

_I'll never achieve revenge from that angle. The Eyes remain my most important and only solid goal._ One of the body-collectors might know something about the missing pairs … or be the true target that she sought.

"Anyway, that's all irrelevant at the moment." Kurapika shrugged off her darker thoughts. "It's time to keep moving."

"Good!" Gon proclaimed, staring at her face. "You're thinking reasonably again! I like the logical Kurapika much better."

She blinked at him, a little startled. "A-alright."

The way they were all smiling at her was kind of embarrassing, so she picked up her bag and headed past them.

"What are your own plans?" she asked as she crossed into the front room.

"We're working on our hatsu!" Gon announced proudly. "If we pass the test, we get hired by Battera to play Greed Island for him."

"The game your father left for you?"

"Yeah!" He paused, then asked, "Do you have any advice? For making a special, secret attack?"

"Hm." She sorted through what she knew about reinforcement, then decided that it wouldn't be of any use to him in creating a personal technique. "Aside from keeping up with the basic exercises, no. Materialization training is mostly image based and that makes it a mental exercise – not really good for a reinforcement user. You have a nen-instructor, though, right?"

"Ah!" The boy lit up. "That's true! I'll ask him for help!"

Killua snorted.

_An element of risk, but they should be fine._ Kurapika plucked an apple from the dwindling collection on the windowsill and tucked it into the pocket of her over-skirt. _A few more things to clear __up, and then I have to leave._ The day was dying, and she could smell the coolness of evening's approach on the air.

"Senri, about the Nostrads and Zenji …"

The melody-hunter sighed. "It could be trouble."

"I know."

"Bashou was saying that there's something wrong with Neon as well," Senri sighed again.

_That's one aspect of cleansing the Red Eyes that I'm not sorry for,_ Kurapika realized with a flicker of thankfulness. _Neon the body-collector is never going to be my responsibility._

"I can hear that sound in your heart, you know," chuckled Senri. "Neon isn't all bad."

"For your sake, I'm glad you can think that way," Kurapika retorted.

The other woman paused, then said, "A contract employee resigning without a clear reason, after the auction's chaos … Someone will have to question whether or not you were involved with the thieves."

"They wouldn't be wrong ― though their conclusions wouldn't be right, either." Kurapika smiled, a narrow gleam of humor. "As for a reason for resigning … just tell them I'm dead. The Spiders killed me."

"It won't hold up."

"So long as it keeps you clear of trouble, any explanation works."

"I can delay here for the rest of tomorrow as well since I'm supposedly picking up the items Neon bought online." Senri offered generously, "Two days grace period, if they do set a price on your head."

"Thanks." Kurapika accepted the woman's hug with only a hint of hesitance that still looked, she suspected, terribly awkward. "If you ever need anything …"

"I know."

She hovered near the door, but she had delayed too long already.

"Kurapika―"

"You'd better be a doctor by the next time I see you, Leorio. Or I'll kick your ass."

He threw her his customary salute, breaking into a confident smile.

"Bye."

Senri smiled. "See you."

"Bye, Kurapika!"

Readjusting the bag on her shoulder, Kurapika walked out of the crumbling apartments. Sunset light painted the streets outside with dull fire and deep shadows. She could hear them chattering behind her, voices light and cheerful.

"Just wait, Killua! I'm definitely going to catch up!"

"Hah."

"Hey, do you think your nen-teacher would be willing to take on another student?"

"No way, old man!"

"You heard Kurapika! Become a doctor as fast as possible or else!"

She knew it would be easier if she didn't look back, so she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead and let their voices fade in the distance growing between them.

A strange weightlessness suffused her steps – a lightness or an emptiness that remained where much of her bitter hatred had seethed. Like false idols, the image of the Spider in her mind had fallen and shattered into so many jagged, splintered shards. _Cast down and destroyed._ Strangely, Kurapika felt no fear that its loss would lead to any weakening of her resolve.

Hatred fueled much of her power, true … but that sprang from the pain of the massacre, and those scars would never disappear. Furious desire to inflict similar damage on the Ryodan, however, no longer ruled her soul.

_Giving it up is not defeat, but victory._

The road to the desert unwound before her; the cold wind of the sea ruffled her hair as it sped down the path ahead. Kurapika sensed the shadow of York Shin, flung after her by the setting sun, slowly pulling away. The auction house, the ruined hotel, her friends and even the double-grave of those lost receded into the past.

_Goodbye. _


	16. Epilogue

_And here we are! It was both a long and a short journey. Updates on the status of the next part are in my author profile. Thank you, everyone, for your support!_

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>: Escape Velocity

Pakunoda found her quarry in the last place she would have expected: the airship's exclusive lower lounge. In retrospect, she should have known it. The man simply loved being impossible to predict.

"Hisoka," she greeted him with courtesy. Years of pretending kept her smile polite. "There you are."

The magician, face clean and hair slicked down and dressed in a formal business suit, nodded with equal civility.

"Mind if I join you?" She was already seated across from him, waving aside a waiter, before he could respond. "I think it's time we continued that chat."

"Of course." A flash of teeth was his answer. "Anything the famous Pakunoda considers worth my time … You've caused quite a commotion, you know. The Spider's antics never fail to amuse."

Irritation narrowed her cool eyes. "So glad that we keep you entertained."

He saluted her with his glass of whiskey, a quite clink of ice accenting the gesture.

"There's no chance that Phinks or Feitan will show up?" she demanded.

The chain would kill her the moment she began to breathe the same air as her comrades. It wouldn't be enough time to get off even a single memory-bullet.

_I'll do what I can, when the time comes._ Pakunoda tucked a strand of colorless blond hair behind her ear. _Trust Dancho to follow the trail. And come up with a plan. _The chain around her heart twisted uneasily … though she suspected it was just a phantom sensation: the illusion of her own paranoia.

The magician patted the briefcase resting at his side. "Those two are enjoying themselves. I doubt they'd come back out for anything less than Kuroro." His expression turned cunning. "Speaking of our beloved leader…"

"I've kept your secret, and you've kept mine."

"I'm surprised," he replied after a moment – and it sounded like the truth, at last. His expression turned vaguely disappointed. "And here I was, looking forward to persuading you."

"You said it yourself," Pakunoda shrugged. "Your only interest in Dancho is fighting him."

"That's right."

"I just don't think he'll lose to someone like you."

Hisoka's eyes turned flat and dead at her bland smile.

"Be careful, Pakunoda."

The Spider smirked. "I am."

His eyes glinted coldly, and he slid a scrap of paper across the table to her.

"This is the address?" she took it eagerly – an unguarded weakness she normally wouldn't betray … but Hisoka meant little to her now.

"Yes." The man eyed her in speculation. "I'm curious, of course, why you chose the Kurata as your partner. An odd way to play. For someone so cautious."

"I'm not playing." She got to her feet, leaning over to kiss the air beside his cheek – keeping up this ruse that they were old friends. "Goodbye, Hisoka."

_I doubt we'll meet again._

She could feel his gaze, cunning and dangerous, clinging to her as she left the lounge.

Unlike the lower levels, the upper observation deck was mostly deserted – which suited her just fine. Pakunoda watched York Shin disappear in the airship's windows; her departure from the city a quiet, unremarkable ripple. Traveling unnoticed was one of her specialties.

She would slip off the ship at the next stop, and set about finding herself a computer. Access to the Hunter Site was restricted to members, but stealing the card off of a rookie would be the simplest part of her plan.

What little plan she had, now.

_But there's no choice but to continue._

She could not return to the Ryodan, possibly not ever. Paku examined her torn nails and smiled with self-deprecating amusement. Maybe, she admitted, it would have been better to stay. To face Dancho and the others and endure the accusation and betrayal on their faces … but she'd wanted something to show for that betrayal. She'd wanted to hand all the chain-user's secrets over in exchange: proof that despite everything she was still loyal. That everything she did, she did for the Spider.

_Foolish. _Now everything she'd feared they would wonder behind her back had become a certainty. Rather than endanger the trust of the only people important to her, she'd lost it completely. _So very, very foolish._

This was what happened when people got attached. No one ever set out to hurt or betray … it just became inevitable as years passed and secrets grew and old promises were forgotten. It was simple, human stupidity.

_Too bad, girl,_ she smirked at the absent Kurata, wandering somewhere in the city falling away below. _You had your chance to know the answers._ What better way, after all, to deceive than to tell the truth? Paku had long ago learned to blend reality and illusion together – to the point where only a very few people could catch her in an actual lie.

The Kurata had been right not to trust her. But then she'd out-smarted herself, grasped the available facts and taken off in the opposite direction. Leaving Pakunoda to exploit the weakness of her unguarded back.

It was naïve of the child to threaten any of the Spiders with death. _Ubo also thought like this._ Paku tapped cracked fingernails against the glass. _None of us would sell the Spider to save our lives._

Hisoka didn't count. He wasn't a Spider. She suspected he didn't even know about Kurapika's nen-sealing technique … he'd simply heard of such things and seized it as a convenient cover. The irony left her grimacing at her own reflection.

_For good or for ill, he's not my problem._

The Kurata girl, on the other hand … Her existence was a mistake. _If she'd only died with all the others! _The curses would have stayed sealed for all eternity, drowned in their own darkness.

Instead, the ghosts of the Kurata clan had been spat back up, dragged themselves out of hell, to haunt Paku and the rest of the Spiders with their bitterness and impotent hatred for the world. _Four years since the Kurata clan died by our hands … I had almost forgotten, myself. _Ironic, really ― it had been so long that even her perfect memory started to fade.

_Live a lie long enough,_ she began to file her nails back into an acceptable shape, _and you'll come to believe it._

* * *

><p>Killua threw open the window of the train, leaning over the edge to listen to the echoes of the deserted station. <em>Three guards on this side of the platform – probably professional hunters, though not all that skilled – and another group on the other side.<em> After the first copy of the game had been stolen, Battera upped his security measures, so all the hunters hired to play were taking a private train out to his private estate.

Of course, Killua and Gon were among them. The Zaoldyek smirked to himself. Despite numerous distractions and blind alleys, their goal in York Shin had been met: both he and Gon had developed hatsu into workable attacks.

_We've achieved an even better level of strength._

They had qualified for the job of clearing Greed Island … though they weren't seriously playing to win … so he should feel smug and satisfied at this point. But not knowing the employer's goal made him twitchy. After all, when working as an assassin the first step was to know the man signing the check – as his father had taught him – and only after you were sure that the job held no hidden traps did you set about doing it.

"_Find out what's underneath the money, but never get involved in it."_

Business was business: and that meant acting out of impersonal efficiency, not personal ideas.

_But that's father's way of thinking._ Killua was a hunter now, not an assassin. _I don't have to follow anybody's rules anymore._

"Still, I wonder what he's after," he muttered to himself.

"Battera?" Gon jumped around in his seat, still high from the elation of qualifying. "I saw an interview, and he said that it was 'love.' He bought all the auction's copies of Greed Island because he wants to have all of the thing he loves for himself."

"He doesn't even play it," Killua grumbled, sliding sideways into the cushions and propping his feet up on the windowsill. _How is that love?_

He dug the last fortune cookie, swiped from the restaurant where they had said goodbye to Leorio, out of its plastic wrapper. _He's paying millions of zenni to whoever completes the game that could kill you … There has to be a reason._ People didn't just throw money like that away.

"I figured one thing out, at least," he shared what he had concluded from the contract that Leorio had helped them decipher before they committed to signing it.

"_One: be prepared for injury or death in the game. Two: Battera keeps anything you bring back from the game. Three: five billion zenni to the person who first completes the game."_ That was the gist of the contract they had agreed to.

"Oh?" asked Gon, readjusting the fishing pole sticking like a flag out of his backpack. "What did you spot?"

"Something can be brought back from the game to reality." Killua waved the cookie in a gesture encompassing the private train, the professional hunters, and the situation in general. "And it's that something that Battera wants at any cost."

Gon smiled. "It must be what he loves, right?"

"I guess." Killua licked the last flaky crumbs of sugar off his fingers.

Unread, he let the scrap of paper from inside the fortune cookie flutter out the window as the train picked up speed and carried them off to their next adventure.

* * *

><p>Kuroro woke suddenly, a startling rush of returning consciousness leaving him exactly where he had fallen asleep: at a table piled with books and papers.<p>

_It's been a while since I drifted off like that._ Amused by the lapse and its evidence of carelessness, he ran a hand through his disordered hair and shook off the clinging haze of unfinished dreams. His mouth tasted stale with sleep and he had a slight crick in his neck from the impromptu nap. _Maybe I'm getting old._

But there were more pressing matters to worry about than the whims of time, and they occupied at him all the way into the bathroom.

_I am … probably not going to recover my nen._ It had taken him days to accept that his worst case scenario was, in fact, a reality. He stared at the water gushing from the tap, but made no move to wash his face like he'd planned.

None of his followers had noticed yet, but it was only a matter of time before someone realized what had happened … If he continued working in close association with them, that is. Ordinarily, Kuroro preferred to leave as soon as they completed the job – the Ryodan was not a conventional organization, and treating it as such only put them all under an annoying amount of internal stress – and he enjoyed spending time unfettered by other people's demands.

Besides all that, he liked to maintain an enigmatic, aloof image.

_But perhaps I should join Phinks's team, searching for a nen-eraser, this time._ From what he'd read about the game, only a rudimentary projection of aura was necessary to enter Greed Island … and he was still perfectly capable of doing the basic exercises. He wasn't _crippled._

But his hatsu, his beautifully crafted book with its collection of skills was gone. Or rather, it was out of reach. The aura would build up around his hand – until he could almost _feel_ the cover against his palm and fingers – then the power would burst like a light-bulb fed too much electricity. In the end, all he got for his trouble was a stinging, numb tingle of pain in his right arm.

Kuroro tried and failed again to summon the book, his hand closing on empty space.

Then a piece of paper crumpled between his fingers.

For a moment, confidence and the expectant upsurge of success spiked within him … until he looked down and realized that it was only the last thing he'd been reading before he slept: the prediction Neon Nostrad had written for the chain-user.

Unthinking, he must have carried it into the bathroom with him.

_I must be tired, to start missing obvious things like this._

He'd taken to brooding over the fortune in his spare moments, trying to pry out hints of the Kurata's future or his own past. But the exercise was proving to be one of futility.

**'Where three roads meet you are standing  
><strong>**in the gathering and scattering of ashes.  
><strong>**Your prayer that not one thing be lost  
><strong>**will be denied again  
><strong>**unless you choose that which is loved.**

**A door opens, but the way is barred.  
><strong>**Blood of the fallen paints the lintel and threshold,  
><strong>**and in all your oceans there is no salt to purify.  
><strong>**Do not take the offered hand  
><strong>**for it has not been outstretched to aid you.**

**Shrouded in fever like a flame upon the deeps  
><strong>**you must open your eyes  
><strong>**before the depths of memory close over your head.  
><strong>**The angel of massacre descends once more  
><strong>**to lament the sacred waters.'**

Like all the others it was a riddle … but one that meant nothing to him. Whatever message the words communicated to Kurapika (blood-type AB, birthdate April 4th of seventeen years ago), it meant nothing to him. _If I remembered what happened — _But complaining about the lack of clear information was an inefficient use of time.

A splotch of red appeared in one corner, seeping through the paper.

_Blood?_

The Spider flipped the page around, more curious than perturbed in those first few seconds before he understood what was happening.

His right hand was bleeding … the hand he'd lost to the curse … Another symptom, probably, connected to the loss of his hatsu.

_Evidently, there are some things even Machi's threads can't reattach. _

Dark drops of red oozed from beneath his fingernails. He'd tracked it everywhere, he saw now, on everything he'd touched: the faucet handles, the doorknob, the chipped white counter tiles, a thumbprint even smeared across the tattoo on his forehead.

Kuroro stood at the sink a long time, the gurgling language of water rushing in his ears, staring at his empty hand. Then he started to laugh.

* * *

><p>Kurapika trudged through the desert, days away from the nearest sign of human beings. She had run out of food yesterday – but there were enough cacti in the area to keep her fed and supplement her waning supply of water. Enough to survive, at any rate. She suspected that she had begun to lose her grip on the reality of this ill-planned trek somewhere around the fourth day … but around the same time she'd ceased to care.<p>

Filthy, covered with sand and the reddish dust from scrambling up and down rock formations, she didn't even register the smell of her own sweat. The uncaring sun stared down at her: a scorched, flaming eye that followed her bug-like progress through the endless wastes.

Exhausted, she threw herself down in the shade of another cliff.

A shadow of memories and regret lay beside her.

"Are you real?" she asked, days of silence finally cracking her determination to ignore the illusion. The lack of water burned in her throat and cracked her lips with a sudden taste of blood. "Or are you my mind playing tricks?"

_**I am.**_

"The strongest in the Ryodan." She laughed bitterly. "So I got what I wanted."

_**A real match.**_

For a moment, just breathing hurt in a way that had nothing to do with the heat and dehydration.

_**You don't seem surprised that I'm here.**_

She wanted to say something different, but could only repeat the words from her memory – conversations long finished and meaningless now. The hollow murmurs of the past.

"I've seen ghosts before."

_**It's only a matter of time—**_

"You lied to me. You said they were all dead." Her voice whispered across barren rock and sand. "You said that you didn't remember because we weren't worth it. You _lied_ to me!"

She shouldn't have felt betrayed – but somehow, she did. _The Ryodan, my comrades, even my friends!_ No one could be completely trusted. No one could be believed.

_**I told you the truth.**_

"I won't accept that!"

_**This is just the way it is for us.**_

"You were weak." She struck out desperately, but he was an illusion – a mirage of the wasteland conjured up by conscience and the pitiless sun. Even his spirit had vanished from this world. "The chain broke because I was too weak to hold you any longer. Because you didn't hate me enough. That's the only reason!"

Ubo smiled.

And she could no longer deny the truth.

"How could you just _let go_ of your regrets? How could you—"

_**I've seen unhappy people before. **_The big man shook his head. _**I wish I had the chance—**_

"There are no second chances." Her arms crossed defensively, curling around her torso to keep herself from falling apart. Grit from the desert crunched between her teeth, scraping against her dry tongue. "There are more important things than what you want. More important than what anyone wants! Thief!"

_**It was fun.**_

"I hated it. I hate you. I'll never stop hating you! You and your damned Spider."

It didn't matter what Pakunoda said. What the Ryodan did or did not know. So what if they had lost their memories? She hated them more for having the luxury, the peace of forgetfulness! After what they had done—

_**Nothing in particular.**_

"I hate you." Her breath sobbed out, broken and ashamed. "I hate you."

_**The best feeling is crushing all that conviction with your hands.**_

She turned her back on her own shadow, but the darkness clung to her doggedly – step for step across the wasteland.

* * *

><p>The humans were taken completely by surprise when her children crawled up the feeding chutes to attack them. Deep joy clawed at the Chimera Queen's insides with all the ferocity of her hunger. She had timed the invasion well – waiting until the strongest of the presences she sensed above had retired during the nocturnal lull of human activity. Their movements had become predictable, and she took ruthless advantage of it.<p>

Through the telepathic link that connected her to the very thoughts of her servants, she ordered them to capture the humans and carry them down to her.

Most of them survived the trip.

Fascinated, she watched their flexible lips move to produce meaningless sounds as they were dumped at her delicately arched feet. She imitated the motions – but the mandibles protruding from her own mouth prevented her from duplicating the strange effect. It amused her to hear the variety of noises that emerged from the humans when they saw her doing that.

In the end, she ate them anyway.

And then the Queen began to make new plans, her intellect swarming with ideas now that she had devoured the superior reasoning capabilities of her creators.

She could feel the pull of the surface calling to her – somewhere there would be a perfect place to construct her own nest. A throne she carved out for herself, that would stand in the home of generation after generation of her children. Somewhere, there was a place she longed to reach.

_The top of the world._


End file.
